Bagenders
by Lady Alyssa
Summary: *NEW EPISODE* 2001 (in an AU) and the now immortal Fellowship are living in the house-share from hell. Now with 3 non plot-defining random slashy interludes. Random Dent would like to point out she actually exists.
1. The Long Awaited Psychotic Incident

Visit our Website! It's moved to [1]http://bagenders.stormpages.com because our server couldn't handle the amount of traffic we were getting. Go on, go on, go on, GO ON! (has all the `Bagenders' stories and a little bit more).  
  
Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Hope they left plenty of room for him to turn in his grave. Debt to `Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the `Young Ones'.  
  
Rating: PG (v mild implied slash; comedic violence; flatmate strife)  
  
Reviews: much appreciated.  
  
Story notes: An AU where the fellowship become immortal, and end up living together in the house share from hell (story is semi-autobiographical, so help me god).  
  
Based on both movie and books, hence strange attempts to write Merry and Pippin's accents.  
  
And it came to pass that the fellowship were granted immortality for they had saved middle earth; and so they went their separate ways...  
  
But some fellowships were not meant to be broken...  
  
History has become legend; legend has become myth and myth has become merchandising: A three-bedroom semi in a town in the north of England, 2001  
  
Episode 1; The Long Expected Psychotic Incident  
  
"Beer!"  
  
Gandalf was sat in `his' chair, an empty can of Tennents in one hand, wizarding staff in the other, an overflowing ashtray balanced on the arm of his chair and his hat adorning the top of the television.  
  
"Beowulf you idiot!"  
  
This comment was addressed to the television, or more specifically, `The Weakest Link'.  
  
"Beowulf was a pansy anyway, I drank him under the table after 3 pints. Where's my beer!"  
  
"I don't see why you can't get it yourself, what with being a wizard and all," commented Sam, bringing in another can.  
  
Taking the can wordlessly, Gandalf raised his staff with his other hand and pinned Sam to the ceiling without taking his eyes off the screen.  
  
"You haven't washed your hands after working in that garden again, have you? This can's covered in muddy hobbit fingerprints. You can learn everything about the ways of hobbits in a month, but after 6000 years they're just bloody annoying."  
  
"You chose to live with us, we most definitely did not choose to live with you, if you don't like hobbits, go live somewhere else."  
  
Legolas wandered in, took one look at the scene and just said "Gandalf". Gandalf reluctantly lowered Sam to the ground with a graceless bump. Legolas politely enquired about Sam's day.  
  
"Well, it's so terribly hard, what with the garden being on such a steep slope and all. How was yours?"  
  
"Well, fabulously interesting, I pushed the trolley up the train, I pushed it back down, I pushed the trolley up the train, I pushed it back down and we stopped to restock in Newcastle. Any more excitement and I may have exploded. The highlight of my day was when one of the passengers recommended a good plastic surgeon who could do something about my ears. Have you seen Frodo since you got in...?"  
  
"He's been really well recently, but I suppose that just means we're heading for a bad one. He's in the kitchen cooking dinner."  
  
"Again?" whispered Legolas. Sam nodded. "Hi Frodo," He shouted into the kitchen.  
  
"Hi, how was work?"  
  
"Fine, what's for dinner?"  
  
"Grilled herrings with a hazelnut crust, roast apple and horseradish cream with sautéed Mediterranean vegetables."  
  
"Someone's going to have to have a word with him about that," whispered Legolas to Sam.  
  
"Why?" asked Sam  
  
"This is getting towards the point of, well...obsession."  
  
Sam shrugged, "Well, it keeps him occupied."  
  
Most of the time Frodo, was well, just Frodo, a well adjusted house hobbit, who kept things together, the bathroom clean and prevented inter-housemate homicide. However, bearing a ring of ultimate evil takes its toll on the mind, as does 6000 years of blatantly misguided psychiatric care. The `episodes' varied in frequency and severity, from mild gibbering which passed quickly to full on Sauron hallucinations and mental hospital admissions. Anti - psychotic drugs have little effect on the aftermath of the power of a dark lord.  
  
Enter Merry and Pippin stage left in Sainsbury's uniforms  
  
"Managed to retain your jobs?"  
  
The nods signalled that for once they had.  
  
"Impressive, if you keep this up you'll beat your Kwik-Save record."  
  
"That's noat fair, ah'm trying for employee of the month ah'll huv ye know," said Pippin.  
  
"But when were the last time you kept a job for t'month," replied Merry.  
  
Pippin opened his mouth to object when he was interrupted by the crash of pots in the kitchen and a small hairy blur which dived into the sideboard.  
  
Legolas sighed, "Not again. Sam, go see what it was this time."  
  
Sam stuck his head round the kitchen door and sniffed.  
  
"Red wine. I think he spilled it on the ri - hob. It must have flash-burned."  
  
"Merry, Pippin, you go finish the tea," said Legolas (this being the only job around the house that he would trust them to finish without burning it down).  
  
Sam was in the corner, kneeling next to the sideboard, was trying to coax Frodo out of the psychotic world inside his head and of course, for practical reasons, the sideboard, the rocking tended to break glasses and at the moment they couldn't afford to buy any more. However, there was no alcohol at stake as they had long since discovered that it had to be hidden much more creatively to keep it out of the clutches of a wizard as wise, powerful and above all cunningly alcoholic as Gandalf. The only noise coming from Frodo was a strange high-pitched keening.  
  
"Shall I ring Julie?" asked Legolas awkwardly.  
  
Julie was the local psychiatric nurse, who after taking a personal interest in Frodo's case had abandoned the usual on and off call system and given the fellowship her mobile number for use in emergencies. It saved the business of explaining Frodo's vastly complicated psychosis to other people. ( Post-Ringbearer syndrome would not appear to be curable and the rest of the fellowship had to feign ignorance about what had actually happened in case they got carted off as well) And they needed it quite a lot anyway. Julie was generally there to help Sam persuade Frodo that no flaming eyes were in fact watching him, and that getting out of the sideboard/ off the top of Legolas' wardrobe / out of the central heating cupboard, was a good idea.  
  
"Give us ten minutes," mouthed Sam.  
  
"Confound it all Samwise Gamgee, you make a better door than a window and they're on to sudden death. Anne Robinson's looking like Saruman in a rage. And a fetching trouser suit and glasses come to that"  
  
Sam sighed knowing there was no arguing with Gandalf when he watching `The Weakest Link' and shifted position, making a mental note to ask Aragorn to move the sideboard later.  
  
Gandalf, in response to the increasing volume of Frodo's gibbering, shifted in his chair to reach for the remote (the only exercise he ever got these days), resulting in the hideous straining of his beer-stained robe and Legolas looking the other way very quickly. There was a banging from upstairs, and when this didn't achieve the desired effect, Gimli gave his customary battle cry of "Some of us are on the night-shift", which in the worst scenario would be followed up with a stream of dwarvish swearing; none of the others knew what this meant, but on one occasion it had actually made Gandalf turn the tv off.  
  
Eventually Sam managed to extract Frodo from the sideboard and was taking him upstairs to continue calming him down. Frodo got a little, well, tactile after his flashbacks and if Sam didn't humour him he'd only end up being sectioned again and then there'd be all the questions (And how exactly do you know Mr Baggins? And you're sure you have no idea what the `correct' details of his `experience' were? And you're sure he was taking the medication? Is the elderly gentleman in the reclining chair is alright? Could you ask him to let me down off the ceiling please? Please?). Now he had his head buried in Sam's chest, arms round his neck and legs round his waist and was being half carried, half dragged towards the Hobbits' bedroom.  
  
Halfway the stairs the weight seemed to mysteriously be lifted and he looked up to see Aragorn catching Frodo under the arms. Sam really wished he wouldn't do the stealthy ranger-of-the-north thing in the house, it really creeped him out, especially when Aragorn wore clothes to blend in with the wallpaper, and most worryingly they had never worked out how he managed to change his clothes between rooms. And the occasion when he had mysteriously appeared through the locked bathroom door to use the toilet when Sam was in the shower had been really too disturbing for words.  
  
"Again?" mouthed Aragorn over Frodo's head, then started to try and make conversation to cover it up.  
  
"Yeah, work was fine," answered Sam. "Apart from..." Sam tried to nod downwards, but it was rather difficult to do without hitting his chin off the top of Frodo's head.  
  
"The slope, I know, you've mentioned. I've tried working on land like that, but from now on I'm sticking with the flatter areas, really, I don't know how you manage to put in the extra effort day after day."  
  
"Well, you know how it is..."  
  
Aragorn nodded. The ranger of the north turned park ranger of the north he was not really in a position to comment. Sam didn't know if he behaved like this at work, but it added a new dimension of fear to Forestry commission walks.  
  
"But it is good being out there, in the woods again. And I do get my own land rover. I'm working on a new walk, putting in all the coloured markers. Not like the old days. Not like when I knew Richard Coeur de Lion..."  
  
Frodo, even in this state, could read the signs of an impending military anecdote and quadrupled the volume of his whimpering, causing some interesting dwarvish swearing to emit from one of the bedrooms.  
  
Having left Sam to comfort Frodo in their set of bunk beds (and if you thought anything more of that statement, get your mind out of the gutter!), Aragorn headed back downstairs to the living room where the rest of the household were sprawled across the furniture apathetically. Merry was looking particularly depressed and was making a spirited attempt to take up the entire sofa.  
  
"What's up with him?" Aragorn asked Pippin who was perched on the arm.  
  
"Oor new boss made him wear a name tag wi' `Dave' on it. Apparently `Meriadoc' doesnae fit, and even if it did he cannae pronounce it."  
  
"Doesn't Peregrin give them a problem?"  
  
"Nah, I just put Pip."  
  
"Doesn't that, you know, get you beaten up?"  
  
"Hey, these days ma reputation seems to go ahead o' me. The last two are still oan crutches."  
  
Legolas sat at the table in the corner of the sitting room. It was his turn to do the house accounts, but then it was always his turn to do the accounts, the only other person who ever seemed to be able to add them up right was Frodo, but recently the accounts book was bringing on his psychotic episodes. He'd thought about drawing everyone else's attention it this `coincidence', but the other three hobbits tended to get a bit defensive. The sight of 3 little angry heads coming in at groin height bypassed the sensible elvish part of his brain which insisted that the contents of his trousers weren't that important and terrified that essential core maleness which insisted that he should really get round to buying one of those protective boxes that cricketers use. He sighed.  
  
"Do you know how much this household spends on beer?"  
  
"Wouldn't know. It's not like we ever get owt." Grumbled Merry.  
  
Both Legolas and Aragorn shot warning looks at Gandalf who was reaching for his staff. "Being alive since the creation of the world gives one an appetite for alcohol!"  
  
Legolas looked at the accounts again. "Well at least this month you two haven't got into trouble." He glared at Merry and Pippin. "Do you have any idea how much a ticket back from Bad Würtemburg costs? It's a good job we could persuade them you were both 6 years old."  
  
Pippin looked hurt "Look we tried oor best, when woke up in Cologne we tae to get home oorselves but we dinnae speak German."  
  
Merry got up. "Tea should be ready. Pip, go see if Frodo is sane enough to eat"  
  
Tea was an unusual affair. Frodo had recovered somewhat but insisted on eating underneath the table, and the occasional whimpers from knee level disturbed the others. Gandalf as usual ate in his chair, and hurled abuse about the standard of Merry and Pippin's cooking. Sam paused. He could only hear the sound of six other people eating, and saw Legolas then Aragorn also stop eating and listen. Then there was the sound of a plate and a knife hitting the floor. Even Merry, Pippin and Gandalf had stopped now, and were waiting for what would happen next.  
  
"Preciousssssssssss" They heard the word from under the table and as one ran for the door into the hall, whilst Gandalf used his staff to barricade himself into the sitting room, managing to panic without ever leaving his chair. Frodo could be very, very precisely violent when he was like this. Aragorn had been forced to wear a kilt for three weeks once after not reading the warning signs.  
  
"They want to take you away, precioussss"  
  
They waited in the hall with the door open a crack.  
  
"What's ee got now?" asked Merry  
  
"Looks like his fork" said Pippin.  
  
Sam whispered. "Now you can call Julie, Legolas, but tell her to come in the front door"  
  
References  
  
1. http://bagenders.stormpages.com/ 


	2. The Shadow of the Past

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. Evil Harry Dread, the Stupid Lizard Men and the obscene song about the hedgehog all belong to Terry Pratchett. At the Sign of the Dog and Rocket out of obscure children's book of same name.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (implied slash; comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; sideboards and garden gnomes)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: An AU where the fellowship become immortal, and end up living together in the house share from hell (story is semi-autobiographical, so help me god).  
  
Based on both movie and books, hence strange attempts to write Merry and Pippin's accents. Would help to read in order.  
  
Episode 2: The Shadow of the Past  
  
"And of course the advantage of this over other types of milking machine…"  
  
Gimli had had a bad nightshift, and that meant 'Farming Today' (5am on BBC Radio 4 for those of you not familiar with that hour of the day) at full volume from the kitchen. Aragorn awoke and realised that while he had been deprived of sleep his knowledge of agricultural technology had been increased without his consent. Legolas was already sat bolt upright and looking about as disgruntled as an elf can; elves may not need sleep the way humans understood it, but they most definitely did not need 'Farming Today'. Legolas looked exasperatedly at Aragorn "Its not even as if he's a farmer."  
  
A few hours later when Aragorn sat down at the breakfast table he was already not having a good day, so when Frodo cheerfully put a full fried breakfast with all the trimmings (black pudding, white pudding and haggis) down in from of him he had to fight the temptation to stick various parts of it where the sun didn't shine. This was not helped by the fact that Frodo, having recently recovered from his last psychotic episode, was in an unusually good mood and bouncing around the kitchen humming hobbit walking songs and winking at Sam who really looked as if he would rather be somewhere else.  
  
After taking three attempts to start the landrover Aragorn eventually got to work where things were not going to get any better. The most over- excited class of seven-year-olds were waiting to be shown the wonders of nature and pull its legs off. Orcs, he could deal with, Uruk-hai, and on a good day even the Nazgul, but a school trip was beyond even the former king of Gondor. By the way they were acting he managed to deduce that they had been given large amounts of sugar on the bus journey because it was either that or hard drugs and most primary teachers don't carry hard drugs (except for personal use, obviously).  
  
Aragorn was relieved to have successfully shepherded them around the forest, managing to stop them from stepping on or killing anything too rare and got the same number back onto the bus as got off it. This was not out of any parental instinct, but the forest was his territory and having lost hyperactive children in it worried him about as much as the time in the Middle Ages when Evil Harry Dread had taken up residence in his cow byre after one of his Stupid Lizard Men burned down the Shed of Doom. It was quite embarrassing for an ex warrior for the forces of good to have one of his outbuildings turned into the Evil Byre of Terror, but Aragorn felt so sorry for Harry that he didn't have the heart to move him on. And there was definitely room in the cows in one end of the great hall. Arwen hadn't been terribly happy though…  
  
So now he was going to give up. He found his thermos in the back of the landrover and using his ranger powers to their full extent he hid in the forest, hoping that there were no squirrels intent on making his life any worse. Not that that would have been an easy task.  
  
Back in the house the hobbits were coming home from work (shockingly, Merry and Pippin still seemed to be on course for holding down a job long enough to get paid) and found Frodo sat on one of the kitchen chairs very still, staring at the table (with his intense, vulnerable eyes, sorry, got a bit distracted there. Think Frodo, not Elijah). They paused inside the door; Sam cautiously approached him and in a soft and above all non-threatening tone of voice said "Frodo…? Are you feeling alright?"  
  
Then their eyes followed his gaze (his lovely, piercing, blue eyed – sorry) to the object on the table. An airmail letter. With a New Zealand postmark.  
  
"Oh no," murmured Pippin.  
  
"We've got to hide," said Merry  
  
"Sideboard" said Frodo blankly without taking his eyes off the envelope.  
  
The four hobbits slipped into the sitting room being careful not to wake Gandalf who had reclined his chair and was asleep in it, snoring like the fires of Mount Doom when Sauron was in residence. There was considerably more room in the sideboard now as Sam had removed all the glasses, reasoning that the best way to save the money they often spent replacing them was to put them somewhere else.  
  
Legolas arrived home a few minutes later dressed as Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice post-swim. Well, no, that's a blatant lie, but it's a lot more fetching than his polyester work uniform. He went into kitchen and was confused by the fact that in a house which at this time of the day should have four hobbits in it, none of them were either cooking or eating. Then he listened, his elven hearing picked up voices coming from…the sideboard? (This of course was over, or indeed under, Gandalf's volcanic snoring) He went into the sitting room and addressed the relevant piece of furniture.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
"It's alright, I'm fine. Sam's in here with me."  
  
"And me."  
  
"And me."  
  
"Wh - " began Legolas before the hobbits replied "Look on the kitchen table" in whispered unison.  
  
Legolas looked back into the kitchen and cursed his elvin eyesight as he saw the envelope.  
  
"Room for one more?"  
  
At this point Merry burst out of the sideboard gasping "No, there I'n't room for one more and there isn't enough oxygen for t'four in ere already. We need another plan."  
  
The other end of the sideboard opened and Frodo stuck his head out suggesting: "There's always behind the sofa."  
  
When Aragorn arrived home later (and later than was usual because of the roadworks) that afternoon there were four hobbits and an elf hiding behind the sofa and Gandalf in a different position from before, snoring a little more quietly but drooling onto the carpet. Aragorn, however did not see any of this as he headed straight for the kitchen to make some coffee. This didn't help much as the kitchen was designed for the members of the household who did most of the cooking: the hobbits. After doing creatively painful things to his back he sat down at the apparently oversized table and saw The Letter.  
  
He stormed into the sitting room and sat down in the sofa, causing everyone who was cowering behind it to yelp. He stood up again and looked behind it into the five terrified, pointy-eared faces.  
  
"I think you should leave."  
  
They nodded gratefully and headed for the door. As they reached it Merry shouted back "Gandalf? Tha comin t'pub?"  
  
"FECK OFF!"  
  
"Fine, on your head be it. Aragorn just got a letter from Arwen," said Legolas  
  
He shut the door and turned round to see Gandalf at the front gate complete with hat and staff.  
  
"Which pub?"  
  
Aragorn stared at The Letter, but The Letter didn't stare back. Arwen. It had all gone horribly wrong. Well, the relationship had worked well for a few thousand years, but you know how it is. People change and drift apart. Or rather Aragorn had drifted apart. Arwen saw it somewhat differently, and now there were issues. Emotional blackmail from three continents away, dredging up things that happened 5 ½ thousand years ago is unreasonable. Using the remains of their children as pawn in this was not fair. He was really never going to forgive her for donating two of them to the British museum. They were two cases along from bodies preserved in peat bogs. It was just so undignified. And train tickets to London are not cheap (Legolas had refused to claim that Aragorn was his live in lover to get a staff discount). There was nothing for it – he was going to have to read it.  
  
Inside the 'Dog and Rocket' (one of the few pubs none of them had been barred from). Pippin was standing on a bar stool attempting to get served.  
  
"Look, its no a fake ID. Jeest because ah'm only 4 feet tall doesnae mean I'm ten years old. Huv ye got a problem wi'that?"  
  
Pippin was looking threatening, so Frodo hurried over to prevent them being barred from yet another pub.  
  
"Is there a problem?"  
  
"Yeah. Fake ID. You can all take yerselves back to playgroup, not down the pub."  
  
"Discriminating against those with genetic disorders could be construed as something we could sue for. Look, we both have ID; do I look ten to you?" Frodo was aware of not having the barman's full attention, and turned round to see Legolas wrestling with Gandalf to prevent him using his staff in public. There was a thump as they both fell of their chairs. Frodo improvised hastily. "My friends are not terribly happy with this you know. He hardly ever gets a day out you know, are you going to deny him his pint as well?"  
  
Gandalf started cursing, in various dead languages. Amid streams of elvish that were making Legolas gape and blush the word "Drink!" was being repeated in an increasingly desperate tone of voice. The barman looked sympathetic. "He's with you?"  
  
Frodo nodded. "He lives with us. I'm his, his" he cobbled together a story, aware that Pippin was looking at him with his mouth open. "carer. Yes, I'm his carer. He's' an old professor, of, of Philology. It gets to them all in the end."  
  
The barman sighed "Anything for a weird life" and began to get the drinks. Gandalf visibly clamed down. Legolas looked at him sideways and realised at that moment there was only way he was going to keep his sanity. He was going to have to get Gandalf put into a home.  
  
Back in the house Aragorn was on the phone. Arwen had lost her latest modelling job and was trying to get maintenance money. Aragorn's argument that she had already in the first part of the year earned more than he was likely to earn over the whole of the year was not cutting much ice. Incoherent elvish screaming was coming down the phone at him. The latest threat was Anduril was going to be left out in the rain to get rusty and then used as a poker. When they had separated Arwen had taken the precaution of acquiring everything Aragorn owned (with the exception of his clothes, but only because they were the wrong size). Previous financial woes of Arwen had led to the Palantir being sold to a "Madam Gypsy Rosie", a fortune teller who had unexpectedly got a hell of a lot more accurate, and his relics of St.Francis (a personal friend) to TV evangelist. After 10 minutes of elven screaming from both ends Arwen slammed the phone down. Aragorn sat staring into space. It was at times like this he could really do with going to hunt some orc.  
  
In the pub several drinks have been consumed. And then several more. The company were now being seen as some kinds of floor show by the rest of the pub – except not too close. Gandalf had over the long years developed an unusual smell, which was not exactly offensive but was unaccountably disturbing. The Fellowship, through close contact had grown immune, although when Gandalf first moved in it was particularly distressing for Legolas' elven sense of smell. His gift of bubble bath had been totally ignored. Pippin was singing an obscene song about a hedgehog being the luckiest of all the animals. Merry was having issues with the floor and the concept of 'vertical'. Sam was having issues with Frodo, who was declaring to all and sundry "You're my best friend you are", and despite Sam's best efforts was engaging in groping to the point of public indecency. Despite Legolas' best efforts Gandalf had moved onto the whisky chasers after the first pint and was now propping up the bar and attempting to chat up anything with breasts. Gandalf was being surprisingly successful – but then he did have magic powers… Legolas just wanted to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground: flock wallpaper was one of the few things elves could not camouflage themselves against. It was time to take action.  
  
"I think that it's time to go home."  
  
Sam nodded in relieved agreement. Gandalf objected, and Pippin stopped mid song and said "Oanly if we can go back via the offie and the kebab hoose."  
  
Legolas sighed. If that was what it took to get them out of the pub, so be it. Next time he would leave them at the pub and go to the cinema. More specifically the Art house theatre, for un-subtitled foreign language films. The one place he knew he would never meet any other members of the Fellowship. Well, if he avoided the ones involving deshabillé (of course, being lovely and intelligent he can use long foreign word like this. Naturellement). Not understanding a word of the dialogue did not seem to put Merry and Pippin off those films….  
  
They arrived home with bags clinking with strong cheap alcohol, which bore a close resemblance to drain cleaner. The hobbits and Gandalf were attempting to eat kebabs, but mainly failing to eat kebabs. Frodo, for reasons best known to himself had one arm round Sam's neck and had given up on his own kebab and was attempting to eat Sam's. Gandalf took advantage of this situation to pinch Frodo's kebab.  
  
"Hey!" Frodo was finding focusing that high up somewhat of a problem. "You stol' m'kebab, bassard!"  
  
"Do you take me for a stealer of cheap Kebabs!" Gandalf attempted to make himself look tall and scary, but the effect was lost with the amount of swaying that both he and Frodo were doing. Sam, ever conscious of Frodo's somewhat fragile mental state kicked Gandalf hard in the shins. Gandalf raised his staff "I think it is high time I finally turned you into something… unnatural, Samwise Gamgee!"  
  
This would have all gotten very nasty had Merry and Pippin not chosen that moment to simultaneously be violently and noisily sick over the next door neighbour's prized garden gnome collection. A silent mutual decision was made to forget their differences and get inside before they were on the receiving end of a ballistic, vomit covered garden gnome.  
  
Merry and Pippin were sent to clean themselves up, while the others went into the sitting room, where they found Aragorn on the sofa, clutching an empty bottle of cherry brandy, which was the only alcohol which had been left downstairs, being too disgusting even for Gandalf to drink. Gandalf resumed his chair and turned the TV on to his customary late night Channel 5 soft porn. Legolas sat down beside Aragorn, took away the brandy bottle and put his arm gently around his shoulders. Aragorn threw himself at Legolas, buried his face in his chest and started wailing and sobbing. Legolas somewhat at a loss of what to do patted him worriedly on the back, and looked meaningfully at Sam who dragged Frodo out of the room.  
  
"All elves are BASTARDS!"  
  
Legolas decided to let this one pass.  
  
Aragorn did yet more wailing and sobbing, but began to calm down a little. He looked up at Legolas with red eyes and a runny nose. "Where di' it all go wrong? How di' m'life end up li' this? I used to be a king y'know, now look at me. You w'there. Coronation. Pretty. Coronation pretty, no' you pretty. Arwen pretty. The bitch! Where di' it all go wrong?"  
  
"For you, about the year 1700 I think"  
  
"Shut UP Gandalf" said Legolas. "Aragorn, you're too drunk for this. You're going to bed." At least partly to stop him wiping his nose on Legolas' uniform which he was going to have to wear again tomorrow.  
  
The Morning After The Night Before.  
  
There was no bouncy Frodo at breakfast that morning. In fact there was no Frodo. Or Sam. Or Aragorn for that matter. Merry and Pippin, hangover free, therefore used this opportunity to have breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses and lunch all in the one sitting. Legolas came in and looked for the muesli, one of the few foods safe from hobbits. "Where's Sam?"  
  
"Frodo." Answered Merry indistinctly through his fried egg and dorito sandwich.  
  
"Uhuh. I'll phone in sick for him. When you go back upstairs tell him if anyone asks he's got flu. As has Aragorn, but I think it would be better to leave him a note."  
  
Upstairs Aragorn, former Ranger of the North, former king of Gondor, Isildur's heir, employee of the Forestry Commission dreamt of elven genocide…  
  
  
  
NOTE: For people not speaking French deshabillé means not wearing anything. Nudge nudge wink wink. 


	3. Celeborn's Company

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. 'Bona' language borrowed off Julian and Sandy from 'Round the Horne'. Pencils up nose and underpants on head borrowed from 'Blackadder Goes Forth'. Concept of the Lasagne Sandwich invented and eaten by Lady Alyssa (Random Flatmate entirely denies responsibility).  
  
Rating: PG (comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; elf campness)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: An AU where the fellowship become immortal, and end up living together in the house share from hell. Would help to read in order.  
  
  
  
Episode 3:Celeborn's company  
  
It began with a simple thing. A knock at the door, but it bred a much more complex evil. The kind of evil that takes a long time to get rid of. The kind of evil that uses your bath towel and borrows your socks. The evil of uninvited guests.  
  
The knock came during teatime and the task fell to Frodo, former ringer bearer and Hobbit of not inconsiderable bravery to answer it.  
  
"Oh hel-"  
  
The friendly greeting was cut off by a horrified piercing shriek and the sound of large hairy feet running at full speed up the stairs. Legolas sighed, Frodo's hiding places around the house were limited and if he had headed upstairs he was probably on top of Legolas' wardrobe and it always took ages to get him back down. Usually he had to stand with Sam on his shoulders for a few hours. And Sam was most definitely not the lightest of the four Hobbits.  
  
Aragorn got up to finish the business of answering the door before whoever was there became concerned enough about Frodo's welfare to decided to call social services, that would mean filling in all of those forms again.  
  
"Celeborn. How…nice to see you."  
  
Legolas and the three remaining Hobbits simultaneously sat bolt upright and stared at each other. There was an unspoken agreement between them, and that agreement was 'sideboard'. As one being they got up from the table, silently laying down their cutlery (although Pippin had the foresight to try and grab all the ingredients for a lasagne sandwich as he left) and crept into the sitting room. Gandalf had already reacted to the news and like lightning had rammed his chair into recline, spread a copy of The Sun – open on page three – over his face and was snoring unconvincingly.  
  
"It's been such a… long time since we've seen you. Just a flying visit?" The note of hope in Aragorn's voice was mirrored by the desperate hand clasping and upward gazing of the new inhabitants of the sideboard.  
  
Celeborn put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I seem to have fallen on rather hard times, dearest Grandson - because that is how I still see you, even after that dreadful business with Arwen - but would you mind terribly if I were to impose myself on you for a few days."  
  
Aragorn squirmed away. "I don't really know, I mean, we've only got the three bedrooms and it's a little crowded as it is."  
  
The sideboard sighed with relief and offered up thanks to anyone who had heard their earlier pleas.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about me, Arrie, I can bunk in with Legolas, I'm sure he won't mind," said Celeborn, pushing his way into the house and mincing into the kitchen  
  
The Hobbits in the sideboard became aware of Legolas tensing every muscle in his body. And the way he appeared to beginning to hyperventilate was not helping their rapidly depleting oxygen supplies. The situation was starting to get desperate, but just as they were about to make their escape upstairs they heard the door open again.  
  
"Ooh, I do love what you've done with this room. It's so wonderfully retro, I had no idea 1940s utility furniture was back in fashion."  
  
Foiled again, and the situation inside the sideboard was starting to get really desperate. Frodo was really starting to be a bad influence on the rest of the group; they should have tried to get upstairs, where there were at least windows to use if necessary, not in here like trapped animals. Just when they thought they would have to announce themselves to their new guest Sam came up with an idea of such simplistic brilliance that Legolas was ashamed not to have come up with it, but then he was an Elf and they were not the most practical of beings, he reassured himself that his mind was designed for higher thought and went back to feeling smug (the natural state for an elf). The idea which Sam had had was to remove the hand-drill from his tool belt, which had still been around his waist when he came in for dinner and to drill upwards into the surface of the sideboard. As one by one the little holes appeared the Hobbits shoved each other around in the hope of getting closer to them; although they were immortal the idea of near-asphyxiation in a sideboard did not seem like a productive way to spend their Thursday evening, and Merry could be unmanageable for days if he was denied his weekly dose of 'Peak Practice'.  
  
With the door open just a crack Legolas could survey the scene in the room. Gandalf was still feigning sleep and ignoring Celeborn, who mercifully had his back to the sideboard and was somehow managing to chatter insipidly to Aragorn and devour the entire contents of the biscuit tin at the same time. Even the 4-month-old Garibaldi biscuits that had been bought by accident. It took a well placed pre-emptive kick to the nearest available part of Pippin's anatomy to stop him making verbal protest when he peeked out of the other end, to see the last of the Caramel Wafers disappearing into Celeborn.  
  
"Well, I could hardly stay there after the incident with their dog; you know what gerbils do to my allergies, and then there was the whole problem with the fact that I'm legally Belgian. And with my financial situation being what it is, you know dear, since I lost all that money in my investments I simply couldn't get a ticket to New Zealand to stay with Arwen. Oh, I'm so sorry. How terribly insensitive of me to go bringing that up again."  
  
"Think nothing of it," Aragorn forced out past his clenched teeth. "Incidentally how is Galadriel these days?"  
  
Celeborn seemed oblivious to this none-too-subtle dig at his personal life; it couldn't have been terribly important, as he hadn't said it. At this point in the proceedings Aragorn noticed the drilling from the sideboard and started to try and fight his giggles and his annoyance that he hadn't taken the hint from Frodo's disappearance and tried to get in there with them. Then again he took into account the size of the sideboard, and the number of people in the sideboard and felt that he was probably better out here. But only probably.  
  
Then it all went pear shaped inside the sideboard. What Sam hadn't taken into account with his hand-drill plan was the sawdust, which was beginning to get up all of their noses, and into Pippin's lasagne sandwich. It was Pippin who finally lost control and sneezed and Merry's rather uncharitable response to this was to shove him out in an attempt to protect the other three by detracting attention from the sideboard. Pushed into the spotlight and with the gazes of Celeborn and Aragorn on him he began to wildly improvise and, as so often seemed to happen in the company of Celeborn, lose complete control of his wrists.  
  
"Celeborn!" Pippin dropped the remains of his sandwich on the floor as his legs seemed to be carrying him forward to present him for a hug at arm's length and a kiss on both cheeks. "So bona to vada your dolly old eek again" he enthused, making faces at Aragorn over the Elf's shoulder as he fussed over Pippin's hair, and seemed completely unaware of Pippin's sarcasm overdrive.  
  
"What do you wash this in, Peregrin?"  
  
"Well, generally ah don't." Celeborn hastily let go and tried to lean backwards in a manner contrived to communicate inoffensiveness, while radiating polite disgust.  
  
Behind him, Pippin heard Merry and Sam pull the sideboard door closed just a little too late. Caught in the grip of Celeborn's stare and camp persuasion they were forced to reveal themselves and were subjected to a similar humiliating display of affectionate greeting. But there was worse yet to come as they were then expected to sit making polite conversation and listening to long rambling accounts of Celeborn's activities over the last three centuries. It was only when Gimli came in from the nightshift and tactfully ran in terror upstairs claiming that his bedroom was on fire and he had to deal with it, that Celeborn finally relented and let them all go to bed, feigning guilt at having kept them up so late when they had to go to work the next morning. He really shouldn't have worried though because Merry, Pippin and Sam had all nodded off on a number of occasions, but had been kicked awake by the other two when they noticed out of a bloody-minded desire to see that each of them suffered equally.  
  
Upstairs in the bedroom, Frodo was still on top of Legolas' wardrobe, as he was asleep and looked quite peaceful they decided to leave him where he was, although Aragorn and Legolas grudged him his peace and quiet; if being insane was what it took to avoid his in-laws, Aragorn was quite happy to put underwear on his head and pencils up his nose.  
  
In deference to their now modernised sensibilities, Aragorn and Legolas faced opposite corners of the room to change into their pyjamas while Celeborn stood right in the middle and stripped entirely, leaving his clothes in a heap where he had stepped out of them and jumped into Legolas' bed. Legolas looked round and shuddered.  
  
"That's my end of the bed."  
  
"Eaww, but I do so like having my head next to the window so I can see the stars out the window. Don't they so remind you of the… old times?" Celeborn threw Legolas the thin, lumpy pillow and a pleading look and he relented and got into the other end.  
  
Legolas tried to stretch out into his bed, but soon met with a problem, Celeborn's feet. "He's a bloody toenail biter as well," thought Legolas. Elves do not sleep in the same way as the other races of the world, and all that business with kicking and snoring and sleep talking was considered… unnecessary. By every Elf Legolas had ever met except for Celeborn who seemed to make up for his complete and utter lack of activity during the day by causing as much of a disturbance as possible at night. He was even keeping Aragorn awake. The only person getting a decent night's sleep was Frodo. So eventually Legolas decided to go stand in the hall for half an hour before his alarm clock went off in the hope of catching a few minutes.  
  
He stirred as Celeborn went past with a large bag of perfumed bottles, heading for the bathroom, but wasn't properly awoken until the rest of the household were queued noisily outside the door. It was not until Gimli did his Jack Nicholson impression with his axe (heere's Gimli!) on the door and then threatened to do the same thing to Celeborn that anyone else got to use the bathroom. This was one of the few days that even Merry and Pippin were glad to go out to work, and muttered something about volunteering for overtime. Unpaid overtime.  
  
Legolas came through the door that evening with a due sense of dread. The second thing that struck him was that there was something subtly missing from the house; he really could not place it, just a sense of there being something wrong. The first thing that struck him though was Kate Bush. Apparently being played at full volume somewhere in the house, and being sung along to with a deeply inappropriate harmony. Even though he knew that with his elven hearing the act was pointless he stuck his fingers in his ears. He went into the kitchen and found Frodo preparing tea. Salad again. It had taken several severe warnings from the fire brigade ("I sincerely 'ope this is not a desperate attempt to get onto '999 Lifesavers', cos we've warned Michael Burke about you lot"), social services ("who was doing the cooking at the… aha, could you please ask the elderly gentleman in the reclining chair to let me down off the ceiling?"), the local Accident and Emergency Department ("not you again Mr. Aragorn, are you trying for squatters rights?") and Mrs. Wainthrop ("if my washing's smoke blackened again the council will hear of this, you mark my words!") to persuade Frodo that actual cooking whilst he was a little, how shall we say this, shaky, was bluntly stupid. In retrospect letting someone with a terror of being watched by a giant flaming eye try his hand at flambé was a little misguided. But no-one could have really foreseen about the seared tuna, or the char grilled peppers. Well, except that is for Gandalf, who was found by the fire brigade on both occasions still sat in his chair, wearing a gas mask, holding a fire extinguisher and with a fan turned on so the smoke was clear enough for him still to be able to see 'The Weakest Link'.   
  
The main difference to normal was that Frodo was wearing a pair of industrial ear defenders. He turned round to Legolas and nodded and passed him another pair of ear defenders. He picked up a dry wipe marker and wrote on the board on the fridge (normally used for the shopping list).  
  
 / It's been like this all afternoon. I phoned Aragorn to ask him to borrow some more ear protection from work, but I don't know if he could hear me /  
  
 He wiped this off and passed the marker to Legolas.  
  
 / Gandalf? /  
  
 / Shed. /  
  
 Well, that explained what was missing. Gandalf's peculiarly disturbing smell had gone, along with the sound of daytime TV punctuated by swearing. Frodo was looking close to another episode, and Legolas knew he had to do something.  
  
 / I'll try and talk to him. /  
  
 / I tried. He only wants to talk about the 'old days' and I could feel my brain going all tight and throbby. Good Luck. /  
  
Legolas went upstairs, to find Celeborn in his room, using his stereo. He turned it off, and only then took off the ear defenders. Celeborn initially looked surprised, but then went back into full on camp mode. "Legolas! I only saw you last this morning and it seems like an age away already. How was work my dear? Kept all those wonderful passengers happy?"  
  
 "A baby was sick on me, I had my ears abused by a group of schoolchildren, and had to deal with the hatred of an entire train full of commuters directed at me when we broke down."  
  
 "Oh, wonderful darling." Celeborn was not listening. "If I could just put my music back on again…"  
  
 "NO. I don't even know why you came here. You know we all hate you, we established that the last time you turned up."  
  
 Celeborn started blubbing. "It's true then. You do hate me. I thought there would be something left for me, the loyalty of my in-laws, or even some fellow feeling from another elf. But no. You all hate me. Galadriel hates me you know. Everybody hates me. What did I do wrong Legolas, darling, to offend everyone? Oh, sweetie, tell me how to be loved!" At this Celeborn burst into tears and threw himself onto the bed and sobbed. Legolas began to leave the room, knowing it was either that or deck Celeborn, but then darted back, threw the Kate Bush CD out of the window and then stormed out of the room.  
  
Downstairs, the other hobbits and Aragorn had arrived home, and Frodo was giving them the full rundown of exactly how irritating Celeborn had been throughout the day. Gandalf had only gone out into the shed after Celeborn had attempted to join in with his game shows with wildly inaccurate guesses, made irritating and constant questions about what was going on in 'Crossroads', but the very final straw was his persistent and drawn out wailing over how "terribly, terribly cruel" 'The Weakest Link' was. Gandalf had tried his usual trick of pinning him to the ceiling, but this had only caused him to make a most irritating squeaking noise and continue his comments so Gandalf had given up and left. Aragorn squared his jaw. "I'm going to get Gandalf out of there. He's not abandoning us here to torture and torment."  
  
"Can't we just leave him out there?"  
  
"Remember what happened last time Samwise? When he stayed down there two weeks? And took the phone with him? 'The Gandalf Modelling Agency'? I don't want to have to pay out that amount of money again to stop people going to the papers."  
  
The hobbits followed him outside, knowing when to expect a good show.  
  
 Aragorn did his 'king of Gondor, kneel before me' stride across the garden, full of purpose. That was until he hit the invisible barrier.  
  
 "We have got tae get oorselves a camcorder." Said Pippin to the accompaniment of maniacal laughter from the garden shed.  
  
 "Yeah." Agreed Sam "that would definitely have got us 200 quid"  
  
 "Definitely. That were a classic, would ave been repeated. It were the way he fell over wi'out bending."  
  
 "Masterpiece, that expression of complete and utter surprise."  
  
 "Not forgetting the impressiveness of t'way he managed to get 'is whole arm sliding under t'compost heap as ee went down."  
  
 "His heed bouncing off the flagstone was really just the finishing tou…" He tailed off to see Aragorn staring at him.  
  
 "Did you think that was funny?" Pippin found himself being picked up by an arm covered in the drippy decomposing bits found in the bottom of a successful compost heap. "Master Took, I think YOU should be more cautious in future." Pippin was terrified but managed to nod. "You four are going to have to find a way to get him out of there. I am going to have a shower and when I get back I expect both Gandalf and the TV in their usual place. UNDERSTOOD?" The hobbits nodded in mute fear.  
  
Aragorn squelched inside, and bumped into a seething Legolas. "He won't leave. He says we hate him."  
  
"We do hate him. And we've managed to put up with Gandalf. Surely he wants to leave, if he knows we hate him that much."  
  
"Apparently not. He's a complete, complete…"  
  
"Twat?"  
  
"Yes. Why don't you try and talk to him? Is that smell coming from you?"  
  
"Yes" said Aragorn and stomped upstairs.  
  
He found Celeborn still weeping melodramatically on the bed. He decided that an ultimatum was the best way to go. "You're leaving. Tomorrow."  
  
Out in the garden the hobbits had hit upon a subtle psychological plan to get Gandalf out of the shed. And their TV back before 'Buffy' started.  
  
"What a shame."  
  
"Such a terrible waste."  
  
"All Gandalf's beer. Wasted."  
  
The hobbits were opening cans of beer loudly and emptying them into the compost heap. This had gained them some reaction, in that the volume on the TV had gone down considerably.  
  
"If he was to come back of course…"  
  
"Bringing the TV with him…"  
  
"Naturally, and his chair of course…"  
  
"Yeah, back into the sitting room…"  
  
"Then maybe we wouldn't have to be doing this."  
  
"He can't even do the pin us to the ceiling trick cos we'll spill it."  
  
"And there isn't a ceiling, of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Dinner was somewhat more normal. Gandalf was back in the sitting room, and Frodo was back under the table. The message of "house meeting in cupboard under the stairs when Celeborn's in the bath", had been successfully passed around without his noticing.  
  
"Such a lovely salad! How nice that Frodo can still manage to cook in such a state!"  
  
"ooooooooooooh but he's a fantabulosa cook!" Merry had gone into full on sarcasm mode, and both he and Pippin were flapping their wrists as if they were trying to take off. This made no impression on Celeborn.  
  
"Its soo nice that he's down there under the table, little Frodo, it's like having your own little pet." Being labelled mentally ill has a great number of disadvantages, and a tiny number of advantages, and when a chance to use one of them came along he grabbed it with both hands, or in these case his teeth, which he sank into Celeborn's ankle. Celeborn howled in anguish, and nearly upended the table. He was eventually calmed down by Legolas who suggested that he had a nice relaxing bath.  
  
The household convened, (with the exception of Gandalf who'd already had his monthly exercise going out to the shed and back and had fallen asleep) in the cupboard under the stairs. The plan was formulated, the tea was drugged. Legolas was volunteered and had to deal with getting Celeborn to shut up for long enough to actually drink it. Celeborn woke up the next day on the Hull-Rotterdam ferry, in possession of a one way ticket and a passport stapled to his lapel.  
  
That evening they were sat, having dinner. Merry had something on his mind. "Legolas?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well, you know 'bout elves."  
  
"What about elves?"  
  
"They're not s'pposed, y'know, to like that sort of thing."  
  
"What sort of thing?"  
  
"Y'know." Merry made an extravagant arm gesture.  
  
"Oh! You mean sex. What about it?"  
  
"You don't have, y'know, urges?"  
  
"Noo.." Legolas was worried as to where this was going.  
  
"Then why on earth is Celeborn so camp?"  
  
Legolas sighed. "I have no idea. I've always wanted to ask him and never had the courage. He's always been like this. I think the only reason Galadriel married him was that he'd be so busy choosing curtains for Lothlorien that she could get on and run it." 


	4. A Shortcut to Whitby

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones', and interminable family car journeys. The "long bent thing with a sort of a knob on the end" borrowed from Goon Show episode 'The Great International Christmas Pudding', owned by Spike Milligan, who probably doesn't know what to do with the 'long bent thing with a sort of a knob on the end' any more than we do. Songs owned by artists credited in story.  
  
Rating: PG (comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; gratuitous hobbit nudity)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: An AU where the fellowship become immortal, and end up living together in the house share from hell. Would help to read in order.  
  
Episode 4: Shortcut to Whitby  
  
"Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam!" yelled Aragorn "Get out of bed, we should have left the house 15 minutes ago!" Gimli and Legolas wandered past him, muttering something about coffee. Legolas was not a morning elf. Aragorn turned to him "Could you see to levering Gandalf out of his chair?"  
  
"Why me? And why do we have to take him with us? And hang on, it was me who got him up last time!"  
  
Aragorn just looked at him. "This was your idea."  
  
"My idea? It was your idea that we should do something as a Fellowship!"  
  
"I most certainly did not. I merely commented that I had not seen Gimli in person for about three months."  
  
"Auch, now you've got me out of bed we're going to the bloody seaside, OK?" He turned to Legolas. "I'll give you a hand with Gandalf." They went downstairs.  
  
Aragorn resumed hammering on the Hobbits door, to have it opened by Frodo, who had quite stupendous bed hair. Being that he was only wearing boxer shorts there was also quite a stupendous amount of bed hair going on. It was only after Aragorn had known hobbits for some time that he had managed to stop being amused buy the state of their foot hair in the morning. Frodo glared at him, "Wha' time d'you call this? We're going to the seaside, not on another bloody quest"  
  
There was a muttered comment from inside the bedroom.  
  
"I heard that Meriadoc. Going to the seaside with me is not a quest and you are getting up, or you are going in your pyjamas."  
  
Pippin stuck his head out from under the duvet and grinned. "I'm no wearing any pyjamas"  
  
Aragorn was shaking with anger, and used the best comeback he could find. "Well, you'd be going to the seaside like that then." He started to storm off, and then shouted back "remember that you and Merry are doing the food!"  
  
Breakfast. Merry was involved in the preparation of enough food to feed about 3 Mongol Hordes, and for once they had managed to get Gandalf to the table to eat real, solid food. A diet of slim-fast milkshakes, kebabs, deep fried pizza (he had an arrangement with the local chippie) and beer does not count as real solid food. Pippin was standing on a stool to reach a shelf, but what was truly disturbing was that to prove a point to Aragorn he was naked. Aragorn gripped his cereal spoon and said through gritted teeth, "Pippin, please put some clothes on."  
  
"But you said ah'd be going tae the seaside like this, so ah am."  
  
Sam blushed and studied his breakfast in detail. Frodo and Legolas had made accidental eye contact across the table and were having a losing battle with the giggles. Merry looked vaguely exasperated, "Please, Pip, just put some clothes on. Before that Mrs. Wainthrop from next-door sees. You know she's on t'resident's association, and after t'business with 'er garden gnomes she's been lookin' to get dirt on us."  
  
"On the contrary ah'm quite clean."  
  
"Yes, preventing those of us who actually make some money for the house from getting into the bathroom" growled Gimli.  
  
Four arguments, a terrible amount of bad language, Pippin having to be held down and forcibly dressed by the other three hobbits, problems loading the vast amount of food into the roof box (involving Merry, Pippin, a ladder and a crowbar) , Legolas using all his diplomatic skills to persuade Gandalf that his staff was safer strapped to the roof rack, and there really wasn't room for him to wear his hat inside the car, and Legolas also going into full on maternal mode ensuring all members of the Fellowship had visited the bathroom, taken travel sickness pills and were fully dressed; later and they actually left the driveway, pausing only to go back when they realised they had forgotten Gimli.  
  
Immediately after assuming their positions in the car, they assumed the appropriate roles. Aragorn, the only one in possession of a driving licence was hunched over the steering wheel, knuckles white, muttering about how they should have been gone hours ago. Legolas, in the passenger seat, was navigating, trying to keep the peace and acting as Hobbit riot control. In the next row of seats back were said hobbits. Frodo, chin in hand was looking out of the window, while Sam (who had been deliberately sat between Merry and Pippin to split them up) was playing on a Gameboy and trying to ignore the bickering between Merry and Pippin. In the two seats in the very back were Gandalf and Gimli who were very deliberately looking out of opposite windows and ignoring each other.  
  
Pippin began arhythmically kicking the back of Aragorn's seat.  
  
"Please stop that," Aragorn spoke levelly but had never taken such a threatening tone with orcs.  
  
Pippin ignored this. "Ah'm booored."  
  
Legolas turned round. "Sam could you let him play with your gameboy for a while."  
  
Sam did not look up from his game of Tetris. "No. Its mine"  
  
Legolas looked desperate. "I know, lets play 'Queen Beruthiel's Cat'. Lets everybody play Queen Beruthiel's cat. Remember, everyone has to think of an adjective beginning with each letter."  
  
Aragorn groaned. "I can't play, I'm concentrating on driving"  
  
Legolas looked huffy. "Well everybody else is playing. I'll start. Queen Beruthiel's cat is an ambitious cat. Your go Merry."  
  
Merry gave Legolas a death stare but gave in. "Queen Beruthiel's cat is an awful cat", trying to pronounce Beruthiel as close a possible to 'brothel'.  
  
"Queen Beruthiel's cat is an awestruck cat" said Frodo staring out of the window in a spaced fashion.  
  
Legolas was wearing the fixed immobile grin of someone who knows this is going to be an extremely long journey. "Gandalf, your go."  
  
"ARSE!"  
  
That about finished it for Queen Beruthiel's cat as the hobbits collapsed into laughter, which kept them occupied for all of two minutes, ignoring Legolas' injunction that swearing was neither funny, nor clever.  
  
Pippin started squirming. "Ah'm uncomfortable. This shirt doesnae fit." He pulled the collar round to look for the size, "See, its no mine. Its got Merry's nametape in it." Pause. "Hey, why you been going roond putting nametapes in yer clothes?"  
  
"I bleeding well did not put a nametape in it. What's tha doin in my shirt anyway? Legolaaaaaaaaass, he's wearing me shirt, s'not FAIR!"  
  
Legolas turned round. "Look, you can wear one of his shirts when we get back."  
  
"All 'is clothes are 'orrible."  
  
"What do you mean, you dress like twins anyway!"  
  
"Yeah, but heeeeeee's been wearin them. Yeuch."  
  
Sam butted in, "hey, my shirt's got a nametape in as well!"  
  
"You wearing one of me shirts an all??"  
  
"No, it's my nametape. But who the hell's been name taping our clothes?"  
  
Frodo turned round, looking confused. "What's wrong with name taping your clothes? I thought I was being helpful. You're always having arguments about whose clothes are whose, I had some time on my hands yesterday so I put nametapes in them all."  
  
The other hobbits stared at him. "Look, we're all over 6000 years old. Aren't we a little old for nametapes?"  
  
Legolas butted in "We'll treat you like you're 6000 years old when you ACT like you're 6000 years old." Spoken as only an elf with a couple of millennia on them could say. Legolas's attention was however distracted by a scuffle from the seats behind the hobbits.  
  
"You're a dwarf, you don't need legroom!"  
  
Gimli had his axe raised to Gandalf's throat and it was weaving in a way that suggested homicidal intent in its wielder.  
  
"And Ah suppose I won't need headroom either, so why don't we even things up a little."  
  
It took such a stretch of Legolas' diplomatic skills to calm both of them down and to eventually confiscate Gimli's axe that he was even a little impressed himself. He sunk back down into the passenger seat rubbing his temples. His increasingly frequent stress headaches were starting to unnerve him because that sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to Elves, but then they were supposed to live out eternity in peaceful forests, in the company of other Elves, not in overcrowded people-carriers with childish halflings and loony old men. He definitely had to get something done about putting Gandalf into a home.  
  
At the point when he had just begun to relax in what wishful thinking made more than just a temporary silence there was a loud thump and a scream from the middle row of seats. He turned round to see Merry and Pippin laying into Sam with feet, hands and anything within reach.  
  
"What just happened?" enquired Legolas with all the composure he had left.  
  
"Sam tried ter 'it Pippin," shouted Merry.  
  
"Only because he tried to take my gameboy. And I missed and hit the door. And then he hit me and made my nose bleed."  
  
Aragorn glanced up at the rear-view mirror. "Put your head back, Sam."  
  
"Isn't it supposed to be forwards?" said Frodo.  
  
"Not in my car," Aragorn replied. "If he gets blood all over the seats I'll kill him."  
  
"Just settle down in the back, we'll soon be there, we're taking a shortcut across the moors," said Legolas as the car turned off on to a side road  
  
"But I think I broke my hand on the car door," moaned Sam.  
  
There had been an impressively loud noise when Sam punched the door. "Move your fingers," commanded Legolas. "See, you can move your fingers, you can't have done too much damage, so you're just going to have to grin and bear it. Well I heard you, up till all hours last night, so you'd better ALL try and go to sleep, otherwise you won't enjoy it when you get there."  
  
Although there was much grumbling they couldn't deny the inherent logic of this, and tried to settle down to sleep. After a while Legolas was relived to hear the sounds of sleep. But a little later he found that hobbits can even be vexing in their sleep. Gandalf and Gimli were merely snoring, although the word 'merely' is not really suited to their snoring. It's like saying it was 'merely' a force 9 gale. The hobbits were somewhat more… active. Frodo was thrashing about so much in his sleep he looked like he was in an aerobics video, but did not seem to be distressed so probably was not having a nightmare. The other three had fallen asleep in a tangled heap and were mumbling. Legolas' elven hearing was picking up such random comments as "not t'mushy peas!", "Welcome to Gardner's question time" and "oh yeah, Gail Porter, ah'm yer baby!". This lasted all of half an hour. Legolas vaguely wondered, as the hobbits awoke, if Merry knew it had been Pippin nibbling his earlobe but decided, on balance, not to say anything.  
  
Pippin sat up, still bleary eyed. "Need the toilet." The other hobbits and Gandalf chorused in agreement. Aragorn looked yet more exasperated. "Look, there's nowhere to stop"  
  
Sam said "I feel sick and all."  
  
Aragorn said, "Open a window Pippin." Pippin wound down his window. "Ah'm cold." He squirmed in his seat. "And ah really need the toilet now."  
  
"I already told you, there's nowhere to stop."  
  
Pippin squirmed some more. "Don't care, just stoap."  
  
Legolas sat in the car alone valuing the peace and quiet after the rest of the Fellowship had disappeared to "stretch their legs". After much grumbling, swearing and comments about thistles they eventually started off again. Legolas wondered why everyone was looking at him until he realised he was humming Cliff Richard's 'Summer Holiday'. Then he wondered why on earth he was humming 'Summer Holiday' – it was a cold, damp day in April, and as much as he would have liked it (as a lifelong fan of Cliff's work – that is Cliff's lifetime) the fellowship could not afford such a spacious mode of transport with hobbit and wizard segregation opportunities.  
  
Legolas was staring into space when a thought struck him about Sam's punching the car. He may have been the most muscular of the hobbits but Legolas was fairly sure he wasn't that strong. And another thing - there hadn't just been one loud noise but several, and each one had sounded quieter and further away than the last… "Aragorn, stop the car!"  
  
They pulled over on to the entrance to a farm track and Legolas, follow by the rest of the Fellowship, got out to check on the roof box. Or rather the complete lack of roof box. However, Gandalf's staff was there and seemed to have a suspicious number of fasteners attached to it. Legolas decided to chalk this one up to the cause of Gandalf going into a home because with the wizard in such a foul mood he didn't dare accuse him of anything, although he would probably have enough time to run out of range before the staff was retrieved. Aragorn refused to go back and look for the roof box, he said they didn't have time and anyway, they'd still been on the A-road then and if it hadn't already been salvaged by someone it had would probably have been run over by a lorry.  
  
"Ach weell, look oan the bright side," said Pippin  
  
"And why should I do that, pray?" Legolas asked through gritted teeth.  
  
"Because it was only the food." Legolas was confused; this was an unusual response from a Hobbit. "It was a lot of food, mind you, but at least none of the deckchairs, buckets and spades or other stuff was in it."  
  
"And would you care to enlighten me, master Took, as to why they were not?"  
  
"Because we emptied it into t'shed t'make room f't'food," said Merry.  
  
"You took everything out of the roofbox…"  
  
"Not quite."  
  
"Not quite?"  
  
"Well, there were this long bent thing wi'sort of a knob on the end. We left that in."  
  
"What long bent thing with a sort of a knob on the end?"  
  
"Dunno. There were instructions in there wi'it. We'll never know now though."  
  
Legolas and Aragorn had returned to the car, and were staring fixedly out of the window. Legolas let out a heartworn sigh. "We'd better be going then." He yelled out the door. "Everyone back here!"  
  
"Heeeeelp!"  
  
Legolas got of the car, to see Merry being pursued by a sheep. And the other hobbits sat on the ground, doubled up with laughter. "Come HERE Merry!" Both Merry and the sheep stopped and looked confused. The sheep, seeing Legolas' expression decided that there were sheepy things she needed to be doing. Elsewhere. Probably in Kent, or, for safety, Shetland.  
  
Eventually, everyone was back in the car, and they were moving once more. Legolas felt a tap on his right shoulder, and looked round to see Merry holding a tape out with a hopeful expression. "Just one song? Please?"  
  
Legolas took it, with bad grace. "One song only." And rammed it into the machine.  
  
As the strains of House of Pain's 'Jump Around' came out of the stereo he realised the car was bouncing, and turned round to see all 4 hobbits attempting to mosh whilst sitting down and bopping left and right to the music. More worrying Gandalf and Gimli appeared to be doing the same, Gandalf having his own somewhat inventive hand gestures for the lines 'Jump up, jump up and get down.' All that could be seen of Gimli was his helmet, bobbing. Legolas quickly looked forwards before he completely lost it and burst out laughing, and hoped they were far enough away from civilisation for there to be no CCTV for them to appear on 'Police, Camera, Action.' However, Aragorn did not appear to be amused.  
  
At the end of the song he wrenched the cassette from the stereo and hurled it randomly behind him. "You're listening to some of my music, before you completely bugger the suspension." The sound of Glenn Miller produced dejection among the hobbits. That was until half way through "In the Mood" the music suddenly stopped, there was the sound of muffled swearing in interesting languages, a burst of static and a cry of "Wimmin's Knickers!" then came, at twice the volume of the previous music….  
  
"Ahhhm a lumberjack and aahm OK…."  
  
Aragorn hit the off button, but it was too late. Gandalf was in full song "I sleep all night and I work all day." The hobbits, both liking singing and keen to get in on Gandalf's 'little prank' obediently joined with "He's a lumberjack" and so forth.  
  
Gandalf directed the singing, adding two new verses, directly attacking the Forestry Commission and Aragorn's facial hair. Aragorn's shouts, abuse and eventual pleas for mercy went unnoticed. They continued singing random snatches of Monty Python, culminating in an unending 5 part round of the 'Spam' chorus. After this had gone on for ten minutes Aragorn did an emergency stop and left the car, closely followed by Legolas. They both began to walk back the way they had came. Frodo shouted after them, but they ignored him. Only when Gandalf got out of the car and headed for the driver' door, with a cry of "I'll drive" did they stop, look at each other and in mutual agreement sprinted back to the car. Aragorn wrestled Gandalf out of the driver's seat  
  
and said "Sod Whitby. I'll drive, but we're going HOME."  
  
Epilogue: In a Little Chef near Pickering a family is sat at a table, holding a long bent thing with a sort of a knob on the end. "It's a pity the instructions blew away before we could get to it. It looks really useful for something"  
  
(Note: even though they never got there Whitby's a nice place to go. A Seaside town with 33% extra Goths free (it's the Dracula connection). Last time I went there it was on the bus, so I take no responsibility for any geography mentioned in this story.) 


	5. Non Plot-Defining Random Slashy Interlud...

RANDOM SLASHY INTERLUDE!! (No bearing on plot, can safely be missed out. If m/m, hobbit/hobbit, or interspecies filth disturbs you read no further. Before you get frightened Gimli makes no appearance whatsoever in this. If you acted in Lord of The Rings do not read this. If the others stories made JRR Tolkien turn in his grave this one's going to make him do the rumba down there.)  
  
Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here, he probably won't want them back after we've finished with them.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (SLASH, m/m not v graphic, but vv silly, comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; gratuitous hobbit nudity)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: You asked for smut, we oblige. Don't say we don't listen to our fans.  
  
RANDOM SLASHY INTERLUDE!! (Just to make this absolutely clear – if you're going to read this just to flame us we'll only laugh at you. Lots. This is your final warning. Exits are situated in the 'back' button on your browser.)  
  
  
  
Aragorn was in heaven, if heaven had major stubble. Kissing Boromir was a terrible betrayal of Arwen, but right now, he didn't care. Arwen never kissed like this. No elf could ever kiss like this. He began to kiss Boromir's neck and undo his clothes at the same time. Boromir objected "but what about the others?"  
  
"Legolas and Gimli will look after them, they're off looking for firewood"  
  
"Why don't we light a fire right here?"  
  
Aragorn needed no second invitation, and made a brief attempt at removing Boromir's chain mail with his teeth before giving up and removing it the normal way. He was vaguely aware of Boromir doing the same to him; his clothes were already worn and tattered – teeth marks weren't going to make any difference. Although he knew he was going to regret the big holes Boromir had just made in his thermal underwear. They were kissing and stroking every inch of each other's bodies, moaning with pleasure when Boromir whispered into his ear "Forth, Tyne, Dogger, westerly backing southerly, 6 increasing 7, moderate becoming good."  
  
Aragorn woke to the sounds of the shipping forecast on the radio alarm and the sight of Legolas staring at him in open-mouthed horror. Legolas said, "Are you quite alright?"  
  
Aragorn sat up and bunched the duvet around his waist. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Perhaps that two minutes ago you were thrashing about screaming 'Boromir, give it to me, give it to me, big boy!' This was then followed by 'Let me feel your citadel baby!' Not only are you having filthy dreams you have really unoriginal dirty talk."  
  
Aragorn had gone deep scarlet. "Was I?"  
  
"I think you know the answer to that. So, did you and Boromir actually get to that citadel?"  
  
"Look, nothing went on with Boromir."  
  
"I know nothing did. What I want to know is why you're having such filthy dreams about him right now."  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I never fancied Boromir. I still don't, I think."  
  
"Perhaps this is all subconscious. Repressed desire."  
  
"Are you calling me gay?"  
  
"On the basis of last night's evidence a jury would say yes. Five separate pieces of evidence in all last night, all of them involving Boromir before you ask."  
  
Aragorn made a mental note to get the sheets into wash.  
  
"Look, there have been exceptions but I generally don't 'do' guys. And if I did Boromir would NOT be one of them. Clear?"  
  
"Not as clear as last night was."  
  
Aragorn seethed, and headed towards the bathroom, duvet still around his waist. This was not helped by all the hobbits doing varying degrees of 'When Harry met Sally' "aaaaaaaaaaah, ooh yeah" over their breakfast and sniggering. Any polite question was answered with "Yes, yes, YES!" He finally headed towards the door and picked up his thermos, which had already been filled.  
  
"Thanks for making my coffee Frodo."  
  
"Um… I didn't make it. Sorry."  
  
Aragorn looked at his full thermos, then shrugged and headed out of the door. As the day wore on Aragorn grew more worried. He was having wild sexual fantasies about Boromir every time he let his attention wander. Like the one where he was back at the secret council in Rivendell and threw Boromir down and made mad passionate love right there and then. Or the complicated one taking place inside Moria, involving an interesting use of Sam's saucepan and Legolas' bow. He didn't even want to think about the one where they both dressed up as Nazgul…  
  
Aragorn was coming to the end of his tether when he arrived home. Even the hobbits could see it, and gave up on teasing him. He got himself a sandwich and went to bed early. Perhaps it was lack of sleep that was doing it…  
  
Boromir had him, slammed up against one of the posts of Blackpool Pier. Aragorn had lost all conscious thought, lost in the moment and the feeling of Boromir, but there was still a small part of him that had a nagging doubt as to why he was dressed as Britney Spears. "Aaah, Boromir…." He could feel himself going over the edge.  
  
He woke up. He could only see Legolas' eyes in the darkness, but he got the impression that his arms were folded as well. Legolas leaned forwards and turned on the light.  
  
"We are going to have to do something about this."  
  
"We?"  
  
Legolas blushed. "Well, if it means getting a decent night's sleep, and you are probably my best friend, and I'm an elf, it's not like its any big deal."  
  
"Yes, but then I'd be your husband."  
  
"We do already sleep in the same bedroom."  
  
"Do I get the staff travel pass?"  
  
"I think I'm doing enough for you already. And this is only going to be once."  
  
Aragorn attempted to look suggestive. "Immortality's a long time."  
  
"Which part of 'elves don't have a sex drive' do you not understand?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood. I don't want things to get… weird."  
  
"Any weirder than knowing your sexual proclivities second hand?"  
  
Legolas moved over and sat on Aragorn's bed. Aragorn sat up and ran his hand through Legolas' hair. "You condition this don't you?"  
  
Legolas was looking uncomfortable. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've, um, well, never done this before." Aragorn looked deeply surprised. Legolas continued, "It's the no sex drive thing, and there's been no one I've wanted to spend the whole of my life with."  
  
It was Aragorn's turn to look worried. "You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"  
  
"Well, it looks like I'm stuck with you."  
  
"No need for the sarcasm." Aragorn kissed Legolas, and began pulling him into bed with him.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
"Uhuh."  
  
"I know the mechanics of this, but, um, which bits are supposed to be fun?"  
  
In the next room the 4 hobbits sat holding glasses to the wall had to try very hard not to burst out laughing. Merry and Pippin began making complex hand gestures, not usually known to those below 4 feet tall.  
  
Time had passed: Aragorn and Legolas were lying together in bed.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"How do I compare to Arwen?"  
  
"Hey, I thought you weren't supposed to have a sex drive?"  
  
"Sex drive no, pride, yes."  
  
"I am saying nothing."  
  
"Not even a rating out of ten?"  
  
"Legolas, shut up."  
  
"Make me."  
  
Aragorn put his hand over Legolas' mouth, and Legolas struggled out of his grip into a play fight. On the other side of the wall, 4 hobbits still had their glasses pressed to the wall. Frodo looked at Sam in a confused fashion and mouthed 'no sex drive?'. Sam whispered back. "Well I reckons there's elves and there's elves."  
  
There was no sign of either Aragorn or Legolas at breakfast time.  
  
"I see they slept in."  
  
"Slept in what exactly?"  
  
"I don't really think there was much sleepin' involved."  
  
Aragorn and Legolas arrived together; acting as if nothing had happened and they had been kept up all night by road mending operations.  
  
"Aragorn, someone's made you up a thermos again."  
  
Something seemed to click and Aragorn looked very suspicious. "Who exactly made this up for me?"  
  
Frodo paused. "I don't actually know."  
  
"Any of you suddenly out of the goodness of your hearts making me thermoses of coffee?"  
  
Everyone shook their heads. Aragorn opened it up and sniffed it, then handed it over to Legolas who sniffed it, took a very small sip and then burst out laughing. "Good grief Aragorn you're made of some stern stuff."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Elven aphrodisiac. The only thing that can get an elf, um, into the mood, and we only serve it in very small cups."  
  
"Aragorn, who's the man?" Leered Merry while the others just sniggered.  
  
"The point is, who's been doing this?"  
  
The answer came in a gale of laughter from the sitting room. Gandalf. Aragorn would get his revenge, but against Gandalf it needed planning. Frodo came over, "I'll just pour that away, before it gets into the wrong hands."  
  
Legolas jumped up just a little too quickly, "ah, no, no, I'll um just keep it. For safekeeping. Somewhere safe. And I'm having another shower" He disappeared upstairs with it.  
  
"Don't use all the hot water!"  
  
"I have no intention of doing any such thing!" was the slightly strangled yelled reply.  
  
  
  
A week later, and in the early afternoon Frodo was sat at the kitchen table reading 'Good Housekeeping'. Merry and Pippin came in. Frodo looked up "You got sacked then?"  
  
"No. Water main's burst so they closed t'supermarket." He walked over to Frodo. "Which means we have the whole afternoon free."  
  
  
  
That evening they were all sat in the sitting room watching TV, sharing out a bottle of red wine, when they heard the letterbox go. Legolas got up and retrieved the letter.  
  
"Its from Mrs. Wainthrop next door. What have you done now?" He began to read and his expression gradually became more and more shocked.  
  
"What is it?" said Aragorn suspiciously.  
  
"Mrs. Wainthrop was trying to have a Women's Institute meeting this afternoon. She says that while some of the younger and more impressionable members of the group thought that the performance given by the, and I quote, "three short gentlemen", on the kitchen table, with both curtains and windows open, was highly amusing, Mrs. Green had one of her turns and had to have a lie down. When, in her lounge, the screams of what sounded like "who's the hobbit?" were still audible that they would have to call an ambulance for the old dear." Merry, Pippin and Frodo were all looking at their feet. "It goes on, that at the point they thought you had decided to desist, sounds of copulation, screams of lust and the theme tune to the programme 'Thunderbirds' could be clearly heard from an upstairs window. This, though, was not the end. Mrs. Wainthrop would like to respectfully ask that this" Legolas held up a very small red and gold bra, "is not flung over her washing line again. She uses the words 'cavorting', 'acrobatics' and 'sinful' to describe what you were doing. Repeatedly."  
  
Aragorn couldn't help but butt in. "Is that a Princess Leia costume?"  
  
"No" they mumbled in unison.  
  
Gandalf cackled triumphantly and produced from the recesses of his chair a wig bearing a close resemblance to 2 cinnamon buns.  
  
Aragorn looked at Sam. "You don't… mind about this?"  
  
"Why should I mind? What they do in their own time's their own business. I can't say that I approve, but…"  
  
"But what about Frodo?" Asked Legolas.  
  
"What about Frodo?"  
  
"Well, I thought you two were, you know, an item."  
  
"WHAT?" Chorused both Sam and Frodo together.  
  
"You're not?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"But what about the quest, you following him all the way into Mordor?"  
  
"He's my best friend. Did you expect me to leave him – oh, sorry, you DID leave him."  
  
"But, but surely…"  
  
"Surely what? Sex, sex, sex, that's all you think about isn't it? What is it with big folk today? You really think I'd go off and have 13 children behind his back?"  
  
"But what about when he gets drunk? And when he has his incidents?"  
  
"Everybody knows Frodo can't hold his drink," said Merry  
  
"And, well," Frodo looked ill at ease, "Sam is a very comforting person when I'm in that state."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I'm fat?"  
  
"No! Comforting is not the same as fat."  
  
Aragorn still looked confused. "But Merry, Pippin you go after girls?"  
  
"Weel yeh, but, its like it would be nice to eat in a posh restaurant every night but ye'll settle for fish and chips."  
  
The punch from Merry was impressive and knocked Pippin to the floor, where Merry kept pummelling him. "You said you loved me you bastard!" Frodo and Sam managed to pull Merry off, Frodo making comments about the wine stains on the carpet, and hold him down. "Look, I didnae mean it like that."  
  
"What did tha mean it like?"  
  
"Ah'm sorry, Merry ah've stuck by ye for 6000 years, what more d'ye want?"  
  
Merry thought for a moment. "Well that thing wi't'doodah. Y'know."  
  
"That? Again? I'm only hobbit you know, remember what happened last time?"  
  
Merry blushed and looked at the floor.  
  
Frodo was feeling left out. "No one had any doubts about me?"  
  
"What, you? I've known you all my life, I've known you were gay before I knew there was a word for it." Said Sam.  
  
Frodo started to say something and then gave up. He took a long drink out of his glass, then stopped and looked at it. "Does this taste odd to anyone else?"  
  
They all looked at their glasses, then at Gandalf. They knew they should have been suspicious but it had been a long day at work, so it hadn't clicked when Gandalf had refused alcohol. He was shaking with repressed laughter. Sam looked at his glass again and mumbled "Oh, no…."  
  
  
  
Author note; the doctored coffee owes a lot to Nanny Ogg's 'secret special sauce', which is owned by Terry Pratchett. And we borrowed a line of Monty Python. 


	6. A Conspiracy Unmasked

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. Mink bikini borrowed from 'Round the Horne'. One scene blatantly plagaris- sorry, 'inspired' by Red Dwarf. Latin motto courtesy of the Emperor Vespasian. Mrs. Wainthrop appears courtesy of the WI, and both she and Julie belong to us.  
  
Rating: PG (comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; gratuitous underpants)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: An AU where the fellowship become immortal, and end up living together in the house share from hell. Would help to read in order. This one in part in response to two reviewers questions: Why do the sane ones put up with the rest of them? (answer: they don't), and Can we have Legolas in only a towel? (answer: yes!)  
  
For non-Brits WI = the Women's Institute; jam, jumble sales etc. Mrs. Wainthrop clones make up most of its membership.  
  
Episode 5: Conspiracy Unmasked.  
  
Legolas stormed towards the sitting room, just out of the shower, wearing only a very small towel. The 'dripping wet sex god' effect was somewhat undermined though by the towel wrapped like a turban round his hair. It was also spoiled by the expression on his face and the way what may at first have been mistaken for a sexy scowl became a mask of rage as his whole body began to shake with anger. Gandalf sat in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the display not four feet away from his chair.  
  
"What. Have you done. With my uniform." It was not so much a question as a series of short statements spat out with the greatest amount of venom that Gandalf had heard from someone who hadn't later turned out to be in league with the dark powers of Middle Earth. Gandalf played what was his usual card in these situations and pretended to be deaf, turning up the volume on the TV to combat the 'annoying background noise'. Seething, Legolas decided to admit defeat once again and go searching through the ironing basket for his spare uniform – if he was quick he might just have time to iron most of the creases out before it was time for work.  
  
Although Gandalf had just won that small battle, what he was not aware of was the much larger war about to be fought.  
  
"Frodo, sideboard, five minutes." That evening Legolas began to put his plan into action by organising meetings with all the members of the fellowship.  
  
Frodo looked confused. "But I'm fine today, I haven't even been close to having another episode since Celeborn left."  
  
"I know, but you're pretty good at faking it when you want to," Frodo tried to look innocent. "You thought no one would notice? Look, I won't give you away, just meet me in the sideboard in five minutes."  
  
The meeting was held, the plan was formulated and Legolas moved on to the next conspirators. As arranged he met Merry and Pippin in the bathroom at exactly seventeen minutes past eight. Just as discussions were getting underway there was a knock at the door.  
  
"Who's in there?" called Aragorn.  
  
"Only me, can I no have a bit of privacy?"  
  
Aragorn looked taken aback. "Pippin? But I thought I saw Legolas go in there?"  
  
"Yer seein things."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Who the hell's that then?"  
  
"No-one, yer hearin things now."  
  
"No I am not. And you are all going to have to come out of there eventually. I can wait."  
  
There was some fast thinking in the bathroom.  
  
"OK. I lied. There's Merry and Legolas in here wi'me, but I didnae say anything cos we're having a discussion aboot hair care, and I didnae want ye to know. Getting in touch wi'oor feminine side and Merry doesnae want tae admit he's got one."  
  
Merry seethed quietly as they sheepishly emerged from the bathroom some time later. The overall negative image was not enhanced by Merry re- adjusting his clothing, and the fact that Legolas was pulling his hair out of pigtails. There were only two conclusions open to Aragorn; either Legolas had just discovered that elves did in fact have a sex drive and was attempting to make up for the last 8000 years or they were all plotting to kill him. Both of them conjured up disturbing images.  
  
Legolas sidled up to Aragorn.  
  
"I need to talk to you. Meet me in the shed in 10 minutes?"  
  
"What about?"  
  
"You'll find out then."  
  
Aragorn was left worried. All he could think about were the erotic or lethal uses of the tools in the shed, although he tried very hard not to consider the possibilities inherent in the lawnmower. He knew he had to go armed, but wasn't sure whether to go for a kitchen knife or attempt to borrow some iron underwear from Gimli.  
  
Ten minutes later he was standing outside the shed, Ranger instincts on full alert, when he was completely surprised to be bumped into by Sam in the dark, with a strange 'bong' noise.  
  
"Aragorn!" He whispered. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
"Me? What are you doing out here?"  
  
The discussion was cut short by them both being dragged into the shed, where they both grabbed the first thing to hand to use as a weapon. Sam was attempting to do an Indiana Jones impression with the garden hose, which was somewhat stymied by the hose being, like all garden hoses, knotted around itself. Aragorn had honed warrior responses, but was not trained in The Path of the Plastic Watering Can, and frankly felt a bit of an idiot. Legolas looked at them bewilderedly.  
  
"Am I missing something?"  
  
"Why did you ask us to come here?"  
  
"I wanted to talk about Gandalf. But before we get onto that, Sam, why exactly are you wearing Gimli's spare iron underpants?"  
  
Sam looked at them. Being 3 sizes too big and held up with braces did not really help the image. Aragorn was glad he hadn't taken Sam's precaution – iron underpants 3 sizes too big are one thing, 3 sizes too small quite another. Sam shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. "Never mind that, lets talk about Gandalf."  
  
"I want to put Gandalf in a home."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Suits me."  
  
"And I need your help."  
  
"Ah, well, there's a lot of gardening need doing."  
  
"Yes, and its busy in the forest too." Aragorn started wildly improvising. "Lots of thefts."  
  
"Thefts?"  
  
"Yes, of, of trees, yes trees. Never can catch the bastards at it. So I'm needed. A lot."  
  
"You two would happily face the depths of evil, sorcerers as powerful as Sauron and Saruman, the evil of orcs, uruk-hai and Iluvatar knows what else, and you will not help me put Gandalf in a home. Aragorn, you've gone soft in your old age."  
  
"Have not."  
  
"Have too."  
  
Sam interrupted. "Look Aragorn, he has a point. If we all get together we get rid of him. Permanently."  
  
"Will they take Merry and Pippin too?"  
  
Sam did a distinctly feminine hip swing and whacked Aragorn's kneecap with the iron underpants, causing him to fall over the lawnmower and swear loudly.  
  
"Is that agreed then?" said Legolas, taking advantage of the confusion.  
  
They both agreed, and Sam and Legolas helped Aragorn up. Aragorn remembered something; "if this is what you were doing in the bathroom, why was Merry so dishevelled when he came out?"  
  
"When Pippin said he was getting in touch with his feminine side Merry took a swing at him, Pippin ducked and Merry fell in the bath."  
  
"And the pigtails?"  
  
"I like pigtails."  
  
They left the shed, only to be accosted over the fence.  
  
"Excuse me!"  
  
It was Mrs. Wainthrop. Sam looked around to see that both Legolas and Aragorn had melted in to the shadows. He, through years of practice could just make them out, sneaking back towards house. He would have his vengeance later (in this life or in the Undying Lands). Mrs. Wainthrop was not one to be put off by people disappearing in front of her eyes. Not when there were rumours of 'that sort of thing' going on next door. Her neighbours were the bane of her life, the very antithesis of respectable. She knew it was all going to be truly terrible when she went round next door to visit them the day they moved in and the elderly gentleman shoved her into a corner and tried to sexually assault her, only to be pulled off by the worryingly effeminate one and the worryingly masculine one (according to Mrs. Heathcliffe down the post office they shared a room you know.) Goodness knows what Mr. Wainthrop (mayherestinpeace) would have made of it. She didn't want to think what the bearded one got up to, but he was out all night every night. Mr. Gamgee and Mr. Baggins were almost respectable, if it wasn't for his 'incidents', but as for the other two short gentlemen, well! The stories she could tell, and quite frequently did, except for the ones which would not be believed. They'd become a bit of a spectator sport to members of the Women's Institute.  
  
"Are you having problems in your shed?"  
  
"Oh, um, sorry Mrs. Wainthrop, I dropped a spade onto the lawnmower."  
  
"Only I thought I saw the other two gentlemen…"  
  
"Oh, well, you know, I need help, um, lifting big things."  
  
"It must be such a trial for you, with your condition."  
  
"Condition?"  
  
"You know, why you're not normal, Mr. Baggins explained it when he came round for one of my WI meetings"  
  
Sam chalked up 'not normal' for future reference. And made a mental note to ask Frodo about the WI meetings later. "Um… thank you?"  
  
"You're ever so welcome. Oh, by the way, how do you keep the caterpillars off your geraniums?"  
  
Sam did not feel that Mrs. Wainthrop was ready to be let in of the secret of what a great organic insecticide elf pee was, or how they had discovered this. The Fellowship did and refused point blank to eat any of his cabbages, including Legolas, which he found confusing.  
  
"Can't go giving away information like that. Family secret that is. I've got to be going, supper'll be ready soon."  
  
"You're eating awfully late."  
  
Sam just smiled and ran away.  
  
After a week of waiting by the letterbox the brochure and application form from 'Sliver Trees Retirement Community' (motto: vae puto deus fio) arrived and was quickly hidden by Frodo on the off chance that Gandalf might get up on one of his occasional strolls around the house and find it. That evening, the other members of the Fellowship convened in the cupboard under the stairs; even Gimli got up an hour earlier than usual to take part.  
  
"I'm not so sure about this any more," said Frodo after looking through the glossy leaflets. "I think I'd just end up feeling guilty about it."  
  
"What?" asked Legolas. "This is Gandalf we're talking about. We want to get rid of him remember."  
  
"Oh I don't feel sorry for Gandalf. It's the people who work there, they all look so friendly, sending him to them wouldn't be fair. It would be like putting a tiger in a petting zoo."  
  
Frodo was quickly silenced by the others and they moved on to the forms. There seemed to be rather a lot of them, most of them attempting to politely enquire about their financial status. As Legolas was considered by the rest of them to have the best (i.e. Most legible) handwriting, he got the job of writing Gandalf's details down.  
  
"Surname? I know he has a lot of names, but he only ever used one at a time. We'll go for Grey, will we?"  
  
There were nods of agreement from all of the Fellowship except for Frodo, who asked "With an 'e' or with an 'a'?"  
  
Sam kicked him. "Does it matter?"  
  
"First name?" continued Legolas. "Well, mostly he answers to Gandalf these days."  
  
"He also answers to 'beer' these days." Sam had to kick Aragorn as well.  
  
"Date of birth?" The questions were starting to get a bit more difficult, so Legolas just made a random guess based on how old he thought Gandalf looked.  
  
"Current address, fine. What about medical history? Let's just put nothing serious."  
  
"But there was that time he died."  
  
"Yes but he got better."  
  
"I'll just put that he's delusional. That should take care of some of his more obvious…eccentricities."  
  
"What about 'molests anything with breasts'?"  
  
"I think they see a lot of that, they probably think of it as an occupational hazard. It's called being a dirty old man."  
  
"Previous occupation?"  
  
"I'm not sure when the last time Gandalf was occupied was."  
  
"What about that business with Mrs Wainthrop the day we moved in?"  
  
"I'll just put conjurer and firework manufacturer, shall I?" There were more nods of agreement.  
  
"What about his staff?"  
  
"We'll take it off him and break it."  
  
"But we've tried that before, you know he can just make another one."  
  
"When he gets into the home he's their problem. Let's just hope they don't let them do any woodwork."  
  
A few days later there was a telephone call.  
  
"Silver Trees Retirement Community, may we speak to Mr. Grey please?"  
  
After the first syllable Frodo had dived with the phone to the cupboard under the stairs, closely followed by Legolas, who listened in to the conversation.  
  
"Ahm, no, er, no sorry. He's busy." This was broadly true, since the last time anyone had got between him and 'The Weakest Link' they had suffered. Lots.  
  
"Well, it is normal for our prospective residents to look around before they arrive."  
  
Frodo decided to go for honesty. "The thing is that we're putting him into the home because we can't look after him, and he's really not very happy about it."  
  
"Well, in that case we shall have to make an assessment visit."  
  
"Really? Is it necessary? He really can't look after himself." This was also broadly true, with the substitution of 'won't' for 'can't'.  
  
"I'm afraid so. Mr, um?"  
  
"Baggins."  
  
"Ah, yes, you'd be the one listed as his carer wouldn't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, I can reassure you that our assessment visits can be quite discreet. We really do not advise people being put into homes who don't want to though."  
  
"We really can't look after him. Its that or" Frodo briefly flirted with the truth which would have been 'or kill him, and we couldn't even be sure then that the old sod wasn't going to come back again', but settled for the less controversial "or hand him over to Social Services."  
  
"As bad as that?"  
  
"YES." Possibly with a little too much vehemence in the voice.  
  
There was a pause. "You have actually told him about this?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Hmmmm. You are going to have to tell him at some point you know."  
  
"We already have told him."  
  
"Yes, and I'm the head of the Royal College of Nursing."  
  
"We have told him."  
  
"We can send an assessor round this week, do you have a time preference?"  
  
"The evening would be best, everyone's home."  
  
"Wednesday evening? Around 8?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Frodo ended the call and looked at Legolas. "They want to assess him."  
  
"Oh. That might be a problem"  
  
"Yes, but if we can persuade him just to be a dirty old man, it'll be OK. It's the first step to being rid of him."  
  
Legolas smiled. Rid of Gandalf! He couldn't help but hug Frodo. At this point the door opened to reveal Gandalf. "Sneaking in corners, conspiring against me…. Oh." The sight of Gandalf's expression sliding from vengeful to leering was not one Legolas wanted to see ever again, so he slammed the door shut. Frodo whispered in his ear. "What now?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"He thinks we're, you know."  
  
"We'll just wait a bit and then leave."  
  
"What if he's listening?"  
  
"No one would be that sick – no, wait, this is Gandalf." Legolas' elven senses knew that Gandalf was still stood outside the door. "What shall we do?"  
  
"Tell him I'm a respectable hobbit and wouldn't do that on a first date?"  
  
"Why would we be in the cupboard then?"  
  
"We could tell him we're trying to develop photos."  
  
"We're just putting off the inevitable aren't we?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"We're going to have to pretend… to have sex."  
  
"How would that be possible in here anyway?"  
  
Merry and Pippin were somewhat disturbed to come down the stairs to the noise of Frodo slapping the sloping roof of the cupboard with his hands and moaning, while Legolas kept to the same rhythm banging against the ironing board, alternately sucking his hand and gasping. The sight of Gandalf wheezing and leering outside the door only added to the disturbing image. "Frodo pulled an elf! That's a 1000 pointer."  
  
"No it's bloody well not. Pulling Galadriel's a 1000 pointer, any other elf it's 500 points."  
  
"Good job he's no playing the game then. We've only scored 72."  
  
"Yeah, but we did come to the agreement that anyone coming under the heading of 'complete slut' didn't count and they're our kind of women."  
  
Wednesday came, and Gandalf was confused as to why the rest of the Fellowship were wearing their 'respectable' suits. The look was somewhat odd. Merry and Pippin's suits dated to the 1950s (the last time they'd felt the need to look respectable, and that was only an attempt to dodge National Service). Both Frodo and Aragorn's suits had 1970's flares, pointed collars and were made of nasty synthetic material. Legolas had looked at his good suit and decided that turning up in a full Edwardian Morning Suit was going to arouse suspicion, and had decided to keep wearing his uniform since it was reasonably smart. However, he would have had to have been wearing a mink bikini to look suspicious next to Gimli, who was wearing what looked like a combination of an ill fitting Marks and Spencer suit and 14th Century tournament armour. But the armour looked a lot more sensible when the assessor arrived, was let in and swept into the sitting room, trailing a short and slightly built man in her wake.  
  
"My name is Miss. MacBeth, but you can call me Matron." The Fellowship found themselves backing into a corner. "They send me out for all the Difficult cases. This is Mr. Penfold. Where is the gentleman in question?" They mutely nodded towards the chair. The penny dropped with Gandalf.  
  
"You are attempting to put me into a home are you not?"  
  
The Fellowship nodded. For once Gandalf was not the person in the room they were most afraid of.  
  
"I can assure you all of MY residents are perfectly happy." The Fellowship felt that was probably the case, the other option probably being a long, lingering death.  
  
Gandalf began to reach for his staff, but found Miss. MacBeth's hand had clamped around his wrist. "And I DO NOT take kindly to any kind of misbehaviour." She turned to the other members of the Fellowship. "I can quite see why you can no longer take care of the gentleman. I think I have seen quite enough for my assessment. Mr. Grey will be at the Silver Trees Retirement Community at 8.00am sharp on Monday morning. Good day, gentlemen."  
  
The Fellowship felt as if they had survived some natural disaster. They awaited vengeance from Gandalf, but none was forthcoming. He seemed to be giving it consideration and this was even more worrying.  
  
Sunday. They knew Gandalf had to be separated from his staff before going into the home. Aragorn had been 'persuaded' into doing this, with Legolas as backup. The hobbits were to wait in the kitchen. The plan was to take advantage of his customary sleep in the middle of Antiques Roadshow to take and break his staff. Aragorn had gone into full Ranger mode, and looked quite fetching in his cloak which matched the 70's clashing orange floral patterned curtains. He had blended into the sitting room and was waiting to be sure that Gandalf was asleep.  
  
Then Julie turned up. "Afternoon Frodo, 'ow's it goin', I were just off t'Asdas so I thought I'd drop in and ave a luke at you. Bin OK recently?"  
  
"Yeah, fine, no problems." Frodo knew he had to get Julie out of there, but had no idea how.  
  
Aragorn saw that Gandalf was asleep and took his chance and went for the staff. However, Gandalf was not really asleep, and seized his staff and aimed it at Aragorn. Aragorn expected to find himself pinned to the ceiling, but was not. There was something worse going on. His underpants were shrinking. Aragorn started pulling at his trousers and yelping, at an increasingly high pitch.  
  
"Underpants shrinking!" He yelled to Legolas as he fell to the floor. Legolas tried to help with the removal of the pants, kneeling between Aragorn's legs and grappling with them.  
  
"Is everythin alright in there?"  
  
"Yeah, fine?"  
  
"Sounds like someone's in pain. I've got baaasic medical trainin' I'll pop me head round the door."  
  
"Noooooooo" But Frodo and the other hobbits were not enough to stop Julie in full determination mode.  
  
The sight of Legolas and Argorn bucking together on the floor, then with a "Yes!" of triumph from Legolas, holding up a pair of very, very small 'Captain Scarlet' boxer shorts, did something strange to Julie. It made her shut up. But not for long.  
  
"Eee, I 'ad no idea you two were a couple" Aragorn had curled into the foetal position, but Julie didn't seem to notice, "cos I were going to set you up with me mate, Stacey, I showed her that picture of you out in t'garden, she really fancies you, she's gonna be dead disappointed when I tell her. 'Ere, are you alright?"  
  
Gandalf began to laugh. Aragorn managed to squeak, "I'm fine".  
  
"Dunt sound like you are." She looked at the boxers. "Wearin' them boxers I'm not surprised. Tracy's little brother'll be disappointed an all. Said you looked like you had big feet." Gandalf had progressed to near hysterics. "Ere, laughing at other people in pain's not nice y'know." She started to go over to remonstrate with Gandalf, but tripped over Aragorn's leg and fell onto the staff. Which broke in two.  
  
"I'm really, really sorry about that. Dun't look expensive, was it? Can get you a new one if it wan't expensive."  
  
"Oh, no that's fine, we were going to be throwing it out anyway." Said Sam.  
  
Monday. Aragorn could barely walk and could definitely not drive, so Gandalf was delivered to the Silver Trees Retirement Community by taxi, with Frodo as chaperone. Well, 'prison guard' would be a better term, ensuring Gandalf was not going to escape on the journey, because they knew he would turn up back home sooner or later. He was safely given over to the care of the formidable Miss. MacBeth, who, judging from the flying tackle she gave Gandalf as he tried to escape, would have a promising career as prop forward on the Scottish International Rugby squad, should Gandalf get too much. Frodo then went home, to savour having the house to himself without the sound of daytime television. Well, that is with the exception of Aragorn sat on the sofa with his legs a very, very long way apart.  
  
Will Gandalf stay in the retirement community? Will Aragorn regain the ability to walk? Why exactly has Frodo joined the WI? Join us for the next exciting episode.  
  
Latin motto: 'vae puto deus fio' is the dying words of the Emperor Vespasian; 'Alas, I am becoming a god'. Ah, yes and we know that no-one as daft as Julie could get to be a psychiatric nurse, but we liked the character, so sorry.  
  
Dark Ravenette drew a picture of this episode that made us laugh – it's on her website, www.angelfire.com/scifi/scifiwriter18 under 'original artwork'. If anyone else wants to send us pictures, money, food, Elijah Wood (or any other nice fellowship member, but he would have the cheapest postage) etc feel free, but we don't give out Blue Peter badges. Sorry. 


	7. The Silver Forest

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: Long and complex, so is at the end.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (comedic violence; strife; language; gratuitous nudity)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: For those of you who've only seen the movie Radagast is another wizard, Radagast the Brown, who likes to talk to the animals.  
  
We'd like to take a moment to hug all our reviewers and people who e-mailed us. Consider yourselves hugged.  
  
Episode 6: The Silver Forest  
  
I sing of wizarding staff and of the wizard, who, forc'd by fate,  
  
And haughty Legolas's unrelenting hate,  
  
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Semi's shore.  
  
Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore…  
  
"Mr. Grey, Let go of the banister!"  
  
Gandalf had wrapped the top half of his body around the banisters, and was swearing, but was careful not to be loud enough for Miss. MacBeth to hear.  
  
"You are only making this harder for yourself."  
  
"Feck off."  
  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"  
  
Gandalf went quiet. Miss. MacBeth had gone onto his list of 'creatures to avoid'. If it had been her in the mines of Moria he would have carried on over the mountain, Saruman or no Saruman. Miss. MacBeth switched into 'good cop' mode.  
  
"Mr. Grey, won't you at least say hello to Mr. Brown? He's been terribly lonely since his last roommate died, find it in the goodness of your heart to talk to him? He's only got the stuffed cat for company."  
  
Gandalf considered this, as being a godlike creature he was unsure of his biology – did he in fact have a heart? This slight confusion, and the related loosening of his grip on the banister was enough for Miss. MacBeth to strike. Gandalf found both his arms wrenched from the banister and pinned behind his back, and he was frogmarched upstairs.  
  
"Your room is at the end of the corridor."  
  
As they approached the room Gandalf could hear a strange sound, as if someone was attempting to play the 'Moonlight Sonata' on the ukulele. Miss. MacBeth pushed open the door to the room. There was, in fact someone playing the 'Moonlight Sonata' on the ukulele. Gandalf looked at the bearded "musician" in shock.  
  
"I shall leave you two to get to know each other. You will, I trust, become friends." The Commandant left the room.  
  
Gandalf stretched out his arms and said "Radagast!"  
  
"Gandalf!"  
  
They hugged, with much butch backslapping and calling of old nicknames.  
  
"Haven't seen you since that nasty business with Octavian and Mark Antony," said Gandalf, "How did Cleopatra take that business with you, and you know."  
  
"Oh, that! About as bad as you can. Killed herself with an asp."  
  
Gandalf looked horrified. "Wha-"  
  
"Asp, you deaf old fool, with a 'p'. You know the poisonous snake?"  
  
Gandalf looked visibly relieved. "You kept a snake then I recall…"  
  
"Look it was suicide. It's not my fault if she used my snake. She asked if she could borrow it, she never said she was going to kill herself. How would you like it, being thrust into a woman's bosom." Gandalf started to snigger. "Alright, so you would enjoy it, but Horace was never the same again."  
  
Gandalf nodded towards the stuffed cat. "See you're still useless with your pets."  
  
"Oh, forgot about that. Its alright Brute, he's a friend." The 'stuffed' cat relaxed and began to wash itself, deliberately ignoring Gandalf. "We're not allowed pets you see, but Brute's very good at playing dead. In fact, when he does kick the bucket, I probably won't notice till he starts getting whiffy. Speaking of which Gandalf, ummm…."  
  
"The Smell? Good isn't it?"  
  
"What? Its deliberate?"  
  
"Of course! Annoys the hell out of the rest of the Fellowship, and its good at deterring social workers. You should have seen the look on that poncey elf's face when I first moved in, gave me bubble bath as a present as well."  
  
"What did you do with it?"  
  
"Drank it."  
  
"Any good?"  
  
"Not really, it was mandarin flavour and I can't stand mandarins."  
  
"Don't suppose you could give me some tips on acquiring a Smell? I have this problem – the Silver Trees Knitting Circle. Women only and they're out to get me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"They started it."  
  
"How long have I known you? Who was it that restyled Saruman's hair into a mohican and put pink streaks in his beard while he was passed out drunk at that terrible party Galadriel had in the second age?"  
  
"I started it. But even the elves were pissing themselves laughing at Saruman in the morning. Galadriel never even noticed you'd shaved her eyebrows off"  
  
"So what did you do to the knitting circle?"  
  
"They said I slandered them to Miss. MacBeth. Told her about all their goings on."  
  
"In a Knitting Circle?"  
  
"Just wait till you meet them."  
  
Back in the house the ownership of Gandalf's chair was under dispute. Merry, Pippin and Sam were squeezed uncomfortably into it and locked in a battle of wills – or possibly knees. Aragorn was standing in the style of John Wayne on the side of the room, still wearing a kilt, since the after- effects of the shrinking boxer shorts would last a while yet.  
  
"Why are you all so keen to sit in 'that' chair?" asked Frodo.  
  
"It's Gandalf's chair!" answered Pippin.  
  
"That's what I mean, it's had Gandalf sitting in it." Frodo shuddered.  
  
"But it's got the reclining mechanism and the best view of the telly." To demonstrate this, Pippin started to shift the ornate brass handle backwards and forwards. "See, chairgoesup, chairgoesdown, chairgoesup, chairgoesdown, chairgoes - oops." As the chair came back up Sam shot out from between Merry and Pippin and skidded across the room on his back, coming to a halt just underneath the kilt.  
  
Sam screamed. Merry looked at Aragorn. "Is tha wearing owt under that kilt?"  
  
Aragorn looked as if he was going to be sick. "The kilt's bad enough, do you honestly think I can wear anything under it after what Gandalf did to me?"  
  
Sam had curled up in the corner and in a twisted role-reversal situation, Frodo was trying to calm him down. Pippin looked at Sam in confusion. "It no' like ye huvnae seen things like that before."  
  
"Not like that, definitely not like that," said Sam, before returning to gibbering in Frodo's arms, a few words such as 'throbbing' and 'bruises' could be heard.  
  
Legolas came in from work, cheerfully swinging a plastic bag and singing in elvish.  
  
"You do remember that me and Frodo speak elvish, don't you?" said Aragorn.  
  
Legolas stopped. Then started again in English. "The road goes ever on and on, taking Gandalf further away from us."  
  
"But that doesn't scan, rhyme or fit with the tune."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"But you're an Elf, you're supposed to care about things like that."  
  
"Nope, Gandalf's gone and that's all I care about at the moment. Now, I have to ask your opinion on a very important matter." Legolas emptied the contents of the bag onto the coffee table. "Which should I use first on Gandalf's chair? Disinfectant or Febreeze?"  
  
Dinner that evening was Gandalf's first encounter with the Knitting Circle. He and Radagast were sat opposite Dora, Nora and Flora, the unholy trinity. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat any time soon because they seemed to be conspiring against him even more than the fellowship. They whispered to each other over the teacups and gave each other Looks, and Gandalf was sure he'd seen one of them produce a hip flask from somewhere inside their expanses of undergarment (and the concept of elderly female undergarments was not something Gandalf liked to consider. Thongs, well that was another matter – except not on old ladies. Gandalf pulled the emergency cord on this train of thought, and evacuated with no thought about oncoming trains.). But worst of all they'd had photographs of their grandchildren and they'd made Gandalf and Radagast look at them. Gandalf until this point had been unaware exactly how ugly a three month old baby could look, and how much uglier the addition of teeth would make it.  
  
Back in their room Gandalf and Radagast formed the Provisional Popular anti- Knitting Circle Front. Gandalf was somewhat distracted by Radagast's hat. Radagast had discarded the normal pointy hat in favour of a Davy Crockett hat. The problem was that this was less of a hat and more of an actual live racoon, which since it knew Gandalf was a friend shifted about on Radagast's head and right now was staring at Gandalf, waiting for him to say something interesting. Or there was the possibility that was now occurring to Gandalf, that his Smell resembled that of a female racoon. He cursed his lack of attention to nature programmes because then he'd know what a horny racoon looked like.  
  
"So you see what I'm up against."  
  
"I do, but what on earth do they get up to in there?"  
  
"You do not want to know. Trust me. But tonight is the night they are going to condemn me and think up a way to punish me. Gandalf, I need a favour."  
  
"Anything for a fellow wizard. Well, one who hasn't gone over to the powers of darkness, or is still speaking to me after Galadriel's party. Which leaves just you then."  
  
"Excellent." Radagast got the razor and began to shave Gandalf's cheek.  
  
"Hey, what are you doing?"  
  
"Well, we've got to shave all of this off, and the rest," he indicated Gandalf's bushy eyebrows, "we'll have to pluck."  
  
Gandalf moaned and shuffled, shaving did not come naturally to wizards and he was rather concerned about how good Radagast was at this. Had he done this before? The situation was becoming more and more suspect by the minute. Gandalf demanded an explanation.  
  
"Isn't it obvious? The only way to infiltrate the knitting circle is to send a woman in, and since I don't have one handy, you'll have to do."  
  
"Why can't you do it?"  
  
"They know me too well. You'll look completely different without the beard and they'll assume you're just another new resident; they come and go here like nobody's business. My old roommate, died as soon as look at me…"  
  
Gandalf resigned himself and allowed Radagast to finish shaving him. With a flourish Radagast produced a mirror.  
  
"It's not me," moaned Gandalf. "It's Dale Winton!"  
  
Radagast produced a dress from one of the drawers in his bedside table.  
  
"I'm not wearing that! Green's for elves, the smug bastards, and anyway, it clashes with my eyes."  
  
Radagast produced a second, yellow dress.  
  
"You don't have anything in white or grey?"  
  
Radagast shook his head.  
  
"I'll go with the yellow then."  
  
Radagast also produced a pre-filled bra to go with the dress. At this, Gandalf felt moved to comment.  
  
"Radagast…?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Where'd you get that?"  
  
"Well, maybe elves don't get those urges, but you know we sometimes do…"  
  
"Radagast, I've known you all my life, you were the one stood next to me in the choir kicking my ankles, I know when you're lying."  
  
"Alright, you know how we have to keep on moving round and changing our identities to stop people finding out we're immortal? Well, I decided to find out what life's like for a woman."  
  
"So what is it like?"  
  
"Terrible, I kept getting catcalled by these GI's, and at my age too."  
  
"You spent the second world war as a woman?"  
  
"Yes, there's a picture of me in a history book somewhere being lovable and cockney on the London Underground during the Blitz. Oh, and we've got to do your hair too."  
  
"My hair."  
  
"Yes, I would give you the blue rinse and perm, but there's no time, so we'll just have to go for the Ena Sharples look." Radagast produced a set of rollers and a hairnet.  
  
When the look was completed, Radagast handed over the knitting bag. "Now Gandalf, this is your knitting bag, look after it. It looks like an ordinary knitting bag, but it contains the largest amount of alcohol outside the nearest branch of Odbins. See here how the knitting lifts up to reveal three bottles of gin and one of vodka."  
  
Gandalf reached out to touch one of the balls of wool.  
  
"Don't touch that one!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It's my hamster, and he's rather excitable."  
  
Radagast removed the offending rodent and pushed Gandalf gently towards the door. When Gandalf seemed unwilling to comply he pushed him more forcefully towards the door, where he assumed the starfish position, attempting to hold onto the doorframe with his hands and feet. "I'm not going unless you promise me one thing."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"You'll come and rescue me if I get into trouble."  
  
"What? You want me to watch what they get up to again?"  
  
"Hang on, what is it that they do in there anyway?"  
  
"Never mind. They're going to start soon, and alright, I'll watch and I promise to come and rescue you if it gets out of hand."  
  
Meanwhile, back at the semi, the fellowship were sitting peacefully watching a documentary, which unlike the ones Gandalf watched didn't have a title like "Streetwalker: My Life as a Prostitute" or "When Boob Jobs Explode". Legolas, out of sheer joie de vivre had put his hair into two plaits and was being called Heidi by the rest of the fellowship, who he was studiously ignoring. Merry and Pippin had retained control of the chair by cunningly forming a coalition, but were both shifting uncomfortably because neither of them had enough faith in the other's loyalty to go to the bathroom. Sam had calmed down, but was still unable to make eye contact with Aragorn.  
  
With much trepidation, Gandalf approached the Chamber of the Knitting Circle and knocked on the door. A dread voice answered "'Ello!"  
  
Gandalf stuck his head round the door. "I'm here to join the Knitting Circle."  
  
"Come on in then. What's your name?"  
  
Gandalf panicked and began to search through his limited vocabulary of female names. "My name's, um, Buffy, yes, hello everyone, I'm Buffy."  
  
"You must first be initiated into the Knitting Circle, Buffy." Nora, the leader, motioned to her acolytes, Dora and Flora and they pulled a poster out from behind one of the chairs and proceeded to stick it on the wall. "This, is Sean Bean. We of the Knitting Circle worship he who is called Sean Bean."  
  
The rest of the Knitting Circle joined in the refrain, half sung as if in church. "Richard Sharpe."  
  
"And what do we say unto Richard Sharpe, sisters?"  
  
"Get them off," they intoned.  
  
"And what do we say unto those of the Crochet Society next door who worship the false god Horatio Hornblower?"  
  
"Ioan Gruffudd's a poof." This last response was given with somewhat less decorum, but much more vehemence.  
  
The blinds on the windows were drawn down, each one bearing upon it an icon of mighty benefactor Richard Sharpe and Nora turned to 'Buffy' saying "To be initiated into the Knitting Circle you must repeat after me: I will not stray from the true path of Sharpe to that of Hornblower. I will keep to the Word of Sean Bean, the Word that is Sheffield United. I will not be tempted by crochet or sherry, but stay loyal to knitting and gin."  
  
Gandalf managed to repeat all of this, impressively, without cracking up.  
  
"And now place your hand upon the signed photograph."  
  
Gandalf reached out his hand and placed one finger on the edge of the photograph, they seemed to mistake his utter terror for reverence and looked pleased with it. Then the first bottle of gin was opened, Nora took a drink and passed it to Dora and Flora who daintily wiped the top with embroidered handkerchiefs before taking a gulp, then it was passed round the rest of the congregation who did likewise. Next, Nora produced a plate of battenburg cake, sliced it, took a piece and passed it round.  
  
"And now, Dora, Flora, bring forth the video."  
  
As Dora and Flora brought forth the video, Gandalf was introduced to the rest of the group. Most of them came under the heading of filthy-minded hard-drinking old ladies, except for the identical twins Cora and Clarice, who worried him. They didn't seem to have any kind of separate identity, and this was from someone who usually lived in the same house as Merry and Pippin.  
  
"We like his trousers." said one of them  
  
"Do we?" asked the other.  
  
"Yes, we do."  
  
"We want trousers," they chorused.  
  
"I thought we wanted power?"  
  
"Yes, power and trousers."  
  
"Because if we had," said one.  
  
"Power," they said together  
  
"Then we would have," said the other one.  
  
"Trousers." This word was also spoken in unison.  
  
After the video Nora stood up.  
  
"And now we come to the most important part of our meeting, apart from Richard of course." Gandalf glanced at one of the pictures concealed in the blinds. He was pretty sure that Sean Bean didn't pose for that sort of magazine, and definitely not with those sorts of implements. "What are we going to do about Mr Brown?"  
  
The old ladies started booing and shouting comments like 'rip 'is nadgers off' and 'make 'im eat 'is liver with baked beans'.  
  
One of the old ladies who had been introduced to Gandalf as Adelaide rose from her big comfy chair to give a speech for the prosecution. "Ladies, Radagast is a slanderer." They cheered. "An uncouth oath-breaker and that hat he wears all the time really smells. He is in league with Miss MacBeth in her attempts to squeeze the life out of us and stop us in our devotions to the one they call Richard." The old ladies all made the sign of the holy trousers, cupping their hands, putting them side by side and raising them upwards. "Why only last week after our meeting she frisked me for drink." There were cries of 'no!' "It was only by the swift actions of Cora and Clarice, confusing her as to which of them was which that I managed to get away with my litre bottle of gin intact." They cheered. "And he has informed her of the posters, yesterday my personal favourite was confiscated as an affront to taste and decency! Ladies, I rest my case." There were more cheers and cries of 'rip 'is nadgers off' from one of the more enthusiastic members of the group.  
  
"So," said Nora. "This is what he has done, the question now, is what we should do to him. Who else, apart from Maureen, is in favour of ripping his nadgers off?"  
  
This was not going well and Radagast was not going to be impressed. Gandalf decided that since he was in the costume he might as well have a go at conducting a defence. Drawing on his extensive knowledge of 'Quincy' and Channel 5 Soft Porn, he stood up and cleared his throat.  
  
"Sister Buffy has a suggestion," said Nora. The rest of the room went quiet.  
  
"Well, not exactly. I'm not surprised that you feel this way about Radagast, personally I can't stand him. But there's no need to go for such drastic action. Maybe he's found out about a few of our tricks, but aren't there thousands more he doesn't know?" There were nods of agreement. "When I was first married and my husband went out to work every day the gas man came round to read the meter and I offered him a cup of tea and one thing lead to another. Then when my husband came home early, I just shouted down the stairs to him to take some money out the biscuit tin and go to the chip shop to get his tea and not disturb me because I had 'women's trouble'." The old ladies shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. "And as for the Richard Sharpe thing, have none of you ever tried stalking him to find his home address. I've got a restraining order you know." Gandalf beamed with pride.  
  
The insult to their beloved Sharpe was the last straw for the members of the Knitting Circle. "Are you just going to sit here and listen to this old baggage defame us and Richard?" shrieked Adelaide, lunging at Gandalf with a knitting needle. It could all have gone very badly for him, if Mr. Penfold had not come in.  
  
"It has come to my attention - " began Mr. Penfold, then he looked up at the pictures on the inside of the blinds. "Oh, that's a nice one, it's new isn't it? Where did you get it? Anyway, it has come to my attention that you have been infiltrated by a man."  
  
The old ladies gasped.  
  
"I heard from a very reliable source that Radagast shaved his new roommate and dressed him up as a woman and sent him here to spy on you."  
  
All eyes in the room suddenly focused on Gandalf.  
  
"Strip him. Tie him down. Hurt him." Chorused Cora and Clarice.  
  
Maureen pounced on Gandalf and started trying to tear the dress away with her bare hands. Gandalf alternated between screaming for help and shouting detailed threats in Elvish as to what he would do to Radagast if he didn't rescue him. Just as the dress began to come away from Gandalf's shoulders Radagast burst in through the window, like an elderly 007 dressed as a monk, carrying Gandalf's robes and hat under one arm and shouting 'hut, hut, hut!"  
  
But Radagast was outnumbered and Dora and Flora tied him to a chair as Gandalf was stripped. Gandalf was fully stripped, by the horde of slathering women, baying for blood, or maybe something else, but he didn't want to think about that. If push came to shove he could hold his breath until he passed out; in fact, just in case he was going to do that right now…  
  
He awoke in a familiar place, although the smell of disinfectant was new, and the faces staring at him seemed familiar. However as he became more conscious he realised that these were not in any way friendly faces. Homicidal would be a better description.  
  
"Go on. We want to know. When exactly did the Sean Bean fixation start?" said Aragorn.  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
"The letter from Miss. MacBeth, which was sellotaped to your chest, when they threw you out of the back of the nursing home laundry van, wearing only your hat to protect your modesty, goes into some detail."  
  
"What details?"  
  
"Details of how exactly you managed to remain in the retirement home for less than 24 hours before being thrown out, and blacklisted by every old people's home from here to Istanbul. Of how Miss. MacBeth found you passed out through alcohol in the ladies only Knitting Circle, surrounded by what she calls 'inappropriate' pictures of Sean Bean, naked apart from curlers and a hairnet. The Knitting Circle were beside themselves, some of them had to be sedated."  
  
Legolas was shaking with anger. "Why? Why all of that? Why couldn't you just go on a killing spree like a normal person and get put into prison!"  
  
"So, how do you like Sean Bean's musket technique?" said Merry nastily. He'd been getting to like the chair.  
  
"At least he can hit the right target."  
  
Merry was restrained from thumping Gandalf by the other hobbits. "Sick, twisted musket lover!"  
  
"At least wizards can see over the bar to order a drink."  
  
Frodo intervened to calm the situation down. "Look, it looks like we're stuck together for the moment, no use bickering."  
  
Gandalf, who had mysteriously acquired a new staff pinned Frodo to the ceiling. "Let me down, I've got jam on the boil and it'll go all solid if I'm not careful." Gandalf let him down again and he went into the kitchen, followed by Sam.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Um, why exactly are you a member of the Women's Institute?"  
  
"Why not? No-one round here knows what gender name Frodo is, and they share round good recipes, and its nice to get out and have a cup of tea and a chat. I get so lonely when all of you are out at work, and then you come home and all you want to do is talk about your jobs, and well, its nice to talk to people like me."  
  
"Like you???"  
  
"Not that way, I mean housewives."  
  
Sam stared at Frodo. He really, really didn't know what to follow up that statement with. He gave up. "Jam smells nice."  
  
Back in the sitting room behind the sofa, Pippin turned to Merry.  
  
"We want our chair back."  
  
"Do we?"  
  
"We do."  
  
They chorused: "We want our chair back."  
  
  
  
Disclaimers: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. The beginning of the story is a misquote of the beginning of Virgil's 'Aeneid'. Most of the story in the Retirement home is based on a very funny play by Aristophanes called "Thesmophoriaszusae." which is translated into English either as 'The Women of the Thesmophoria', or 'The Poet and the Women', and it's filthy – we've really only used the clean bits. Lady Cora and Lady Clarice are residents of Gormenghast and belong to Mervyn Peake – will be sent back by return of post at great personal expense. Terry Pratchett now so deeply embedded into our consciousness we only realised 'The Smell' and 'hut hut hut" were Discworld references when it was pointed out to us…  
  
The authors would like to emphasise that the views expressed by the Knitting Circle about Ioan Gruffudd and Hornblower are not their own, and that they do not question his personal life in any way.  
  
We like men in tight trousers.  
  
Do we?  
  
We do. 


	8. At Home With Boromir

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to `Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the `Young Ones'. Any resemblance between the behaviour of the hobbits whilst drunk and the authors down the student's union is purely coincidental.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; slashiness)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: Would help to read in order. Would really, really help to have seen `The Full Monty', or at least know the song `Hot Stuff'. Some jokes will go over your head if you haven't read `Return of the King', but not many. If you are concerned about the aspersions we are about to cast on Boromir's sexuality Tolkien started it - look at Appendix A at the end of the bit about the stewards...  
  
Episode 7: At Home With Boromir.  
  
"Stoap pulling it!"  
  
"Only if you stop pulling it y'great lummock!"  
  
Gandalf looked at the scene being enacted on the living room floor in front of him. "Fool of a Took, what are you doing?"  
  
"We're trying to be occult. Look it's a weejee board. Mavis at work does séances, and we thought we'd try an' contact Boromir."  
  
"Yeah, except Pippin keeps on spoiling it and pulling it to say `Merry blows goats'."  
  
"Hobbits, always meddling. Let me show you how it's done." Gandalf waved his staff and there appeared in the air at hobbit height what looked like an entry phone. Pippin looked at Gandalf who waved him towards it. He pressed the button.  
  
"Good Afternoon and Welcome to the Halls of Mandos, how may I help you?"  
  
"Ah'm trying to get in contact wi'someone."  
  
"One moment, I'll put you through to the Spiritual Contact Department, please hold."  
  
There was the sound of a celestial choir singing `Greensleves'.  
  
"Good Afternoon, Spiritual Contact Department, how may I help you?" There was a pause. "Doesn't Gandalf, also known as Mithrandir, Olorin or Mr Grey, live at this address?"  
  
"Um, yes."  
  
"If he's trying to nuisance call Isildur son of Elendil again, his calls have been blocked. Since the mid-fifth age. We're don't appreciate passing on messages like that." The last comment was distinctly dark and accompanied by sniggers from Gandalf.  
  
"No, Ah'm no Gandalf, and Ah want to contact someone else."  
  
"Please state clearly species, approximate Age of earth when they died and name."  
  
"Human, Third Age of Middle earth, Boromir son of Denethor."  
  
"We have three Boromir son of Denethors who fit that description. Are you looking for Boromir son of Denethor, killed in an unlikely sequence of events involving a badger; Boromir son of Denethor beaten to death with a jar of picked herring in a drunken argument over washing up; or Boromir son of Denethor, kebabbed in a fight with Uruk-Hai?"  
  
"The last one."  
  
"Are you requesting full manifestation, voice only contact, or one knock for yes and two knocks for no?"  
  
"Full manifestation please."  
  
"One moment please."  
  
With a twinkle of surprisingly girly lights and noise not unlike that of a microwave when it's finished cooking, the spectral Boromir appeared in full song, swinging a mug of beer in a manner described either as carousing or `looking a complete twat'.  
  
"Four and twenty virgins went up to Minas Tirith and when...Oh, hello." Boromir dropped the ghost of the beer.  
  
"Hello Boromir, no, doon here."  
  
"Pippin?"  
  
"Yeah, you still remember me after all this time?"  
  
"As if tha could forget `im after that business wi't'Horn of Gondor."  
  
The spectral Boromir kneeled down, pulled back one arm and let fly with a punch that went straight through Pippin's head and caused him to overbalance and end up face down on the floor with the two Hobbits standing in the middle of him. Boromir picked himself up, and realising that he would not be able to express his anger through his usual preferred method of extreme violence, would have to do it verbally.  
  
"What the hell do you think you are doing with your lives? I died to save you and look at you, you're spending eternity stacking shelves!"  
  
Pippin jumped in, "We havnae been stacking shelves the whole time, we've done lots of other stuff."  
  
"Yes, I know. Following armies to steal the boots off corpses after battles, selling `souvenirs' at public executions and that business in Moscow in 1812."  
  
"It wisnae oor fault. We were freezin' oor dangly bits off, an' decided to start a fire an' Merry had stolen this lovely chandelier, an' we were so distracted looking at how sparkly it was in the firelight that we didnae notice how big the fire had got until it was too late. We didnae know it would burn doon the whole city, and who builds cities entirely oot a wood anyway?"  
  
Pippin's little speech had not improved Boromir's mood. He was trying to use psychokinesis to hit Merry over the head with a small porcelain dancing pig, but was just making the lights turn on and off disco style. Gandalf saw what he was trying to do and although there was little love lost between him and Boromir, there was even less between him and Merry and Pippin, so he used his staff to whack them both in the back of the knees so that they fell forwards through Boromir.  
  
Merry shuddered. "It's like walking through a carwash on a cold day."  
  
"When have you walked through a carwash on a cold day?"  
  
"Never, I just think that's what it'd feel like it."  
  
Pippin hit Merry. Not for any particular reason, just because Merry could be a real smug bastard when he wanted to, especially when he started getting metaphorical.  
  
At this point Frodo came in from the kitchen. Saw Boromir, made a strangled cry and tried run for the sideboard but saw that Boromir was in front of it. He darted back towards the door to hide upstairs and ran straight into Sam and seeing no other option, wrapped his arms and legs around him, causing them both to fall over. Frodo began muttering, "Mine, not yours, mine."  
  
Boromir had a moment of confusion because he didn't really have any designs on Sam, but then realised that this was one of Frodo's flashbacks. "Sorry, should I go?" asked Boromir with uncharacteristic tact.  
  
"I think that's probably for the best," said Sam from somewhere underneath Frodo.  
  
Boromir turned round and tried to turn the spectral door handle which had just appeared. It didn't budge. He tried again. And again. He banged the door with both of his see-through fists until an automated voice gave the following recorded message: "We apologise for the over-manifestation of this spirit. Due to engineering work he will have to remain in the mortal realm for one week. We apologise for any inconvenience and suggest that in the meantime he possesses a mortal body to prevent spiritual decay."  
  
Boromir looked at Gandalf. Then he looked at the Hobbits. He didn't really like the idea of his spirit coming apart, but then he didn't want it to be four feet tall with hairy feet either. Gandalf had a thoughtful look on his face, which was always a bad thing. Which was why it with incredible bad timing that Legolas decided to come into the room, having just got in from work. Gandalf waved his staff, grinned, and Boromir disappeared.  
  
"It's you..." Legolas was not impressed. When he had last seen Boromir, they had been in the middle of an argument, the one that no longer has cause and effect, or any kind of coherent reason, but is merely made up of personal insults. He couldn't remember how it had started, possibly Boromir had said something about his mother, or maybe he had said something about Boromir's mother. Or maybe his smell: if he hadn't said something about that, he had definitely meant to.  
  
Boromir wasn't exactly happy with the arrangement either. "Gandalf, I want out!" he said in his own voice.  
  
"Can't."  
  
"You put me in here, you can get me out."  
  
"No, done magic, tired." Gandalf sat back down in his chair, turned on `Countdown' and recommenced snoring and drooling.  
  
Legolas and Boromir attempted to give each other suspicious looks, which involved Legolas going cross-eyed in a very amusing fashion.  
  
"I'm taking a shower," announced Legolas.  
  
"No we're not."  
  
"Yes we are, just because you don't know the meaning of the word `shampoo' doesn't mean that I have to smell like you do. Or did, deadboy."  
  
Legolas-Boromir retreated upstairs arguing with itself.  
  
Aragorn arrived home some time later and was perplexed to find Merry and Pippin sitting outside the bathroom chanting "Legolas and Boromir sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" while abuse was hurled out of the bathroom in voices which sounded suspiciously like those belonging to Legolas and Boromir.  
  
Aragorn grabbed Merry by the scruff of the neck. "What is going on."  
  
"Put me down, it's Pippin's fault."  
  
Aragorn picked Pippin up by the scruff of the neck with his other hand. "I don't want to know whose fault it is, I want to know what's going on."  
  
Merry and Pippin looked at each other and decided it was best to go for the speedy truth. "We accidentally summoned up Boromir and got him locked out of the Halls of Mandos, so he's stuck possessing Legolas for the next week. And we're very sorry and have learned our lesson and promise never to do it again."  
  
At this point the bathroom door opened and Legolas-Boromir stepped out dressed in a pink fluffy bathrobe with bunny rabbits embroidered on it, which Boromir was objecting to.  
  
"Only an elf would cross-dress getting out of the bath," said Boromir's voice.  
  
"At least this is the only time I cross dress. I've heard things about you, you had quite a reputation in your company back in the old days."  
  
Aragorn was treated to the strange sight of someone trying to hit themselves and stop themselves at the same time. The hand trying to hit Legolas in the jaw succeeded and both voices simultaneously went "Oww".  
  
"What are you doing? We're in the same body so if you hit me you hit yourself, borscht for brains," said Legolas.  
  
Boromir said nothing, but Aragorn thought he could see an internal battle going on as to whether eyes should be narrowed in anger or not.  
  
"Ah, Aragorn, gone down a bit in the world in the last few centuries, haven't you?"  
  
"I thought you'd be the one to ask about `going down', you kinky Hobbit lover." Merry and Pippin had the decency to look ashamed.  
  
Legolas-Boromir took a swing at Aragorn, but Aragorn ducked and their fist hit the wall.  
  
"Would you just stop that!"  
  
Aragorn sighed. Someone was going to have to deal with this if Legolas' body was to survive the rest of the month and he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be him. "Get dressed, we'll talk about this over dinner."  
  
Legolas-Boromir was late for dinner because of the argument over clothing. Boromir had taken one look at Legolas' wardrobe and refused point blank to wear any of it and insisted that he would make the two of them walk around naked if Legolas didn't find anything else for them to wear. In the end, they had looked through the bottom of Aragorn's wardrobe for the clothes he hardly ever wore to find something suitably manly for Boromir to wear and had settled on a red checked lumberjack shirt and heavy work jeans, which, because they were about three sizes too big were held up by a belt with a huge buckle in the shape of the word `buffalo'.  
  
When they appeared in the kitchen the entire fellowship began to laugh, even Frodo who was still having issues about the fact that Boromir was around so it was the high-pitched giggle of those not entirely in touch with reality and slightly muffled because he was still attached to Sam. They sat down at the table wearing a look of mutual annoyance.  
  
"So, Boromir," began Sam, trying desperately to break the tension with a little small talk. "What have you been doing with yourself since we last saw you?"  
  
"I've been dead." This avenue of conversation turned out to have a dead end, the pun very much intended, but this was one subject Boromir wasn't keen to drop. "You could have kept in touch you know, invited me to some of your little reunions."  
  
"What reunions? That time we all ended up in the same dungeon during the Wars of the Roses was a coincidence, we weren't even all on the same side."  
  
"Then how come you ended up in the same dungeon?"  
  
"Most of us were fighting for the Yorkists, but Merry and Pippin were fighting for the Lancastrians, or to be more precise, following their army and pinching armour off the dead bodies and got caught trying to sell it back to the same side."  
  
Merry and Pippin nodded proudly. "We were camp followers."  
  
There was silence as the rest of the Fellowship gave them a very suspicious look. "Yeess," said Aragorn. "Moving on..."  
  
The Boromir-Legolas situation had to be sorted out so a parliamentary debate was held around the kitchen table, involving all the traditional name-calling and personal insults, but the hair-pulling was something they came up with themselves. It was agreed that Legolas and Boromir should do things by mutual consultation, except for when Legolas was at work, when he was to have full control; as a reward for his co-operation in this matter, Boromir would get to have a few drinks at the end of the week. Therefore it was with a sense of contentment that they settled down to an evening in front of the TV.  
  
However, it didn't last.  
  
Aragorn looked down at his thigh. There was a hand on it, a distinctly elvish looking hand.  
  
"Which one of you is doing... that."  
  
"It's him!" answered two voices in unison.  
  
Aragorn looked at them.  
  
"Hey, I'm an elf, no sex drive, remember. And I've been sharing a room with you for years, if I wanted to do anything, I'd have done it before now."  
  
The Hobbits and Gandalf sniggered on the other side of the room.  
  
"You'd believe him? He's just using me as an excuse. Why would I want to try it on with the bastard who stole my father's kingdom?"  
  
"You know, this would be a lot more convincing if your hand wasn't still on my leg, and stop...stroking. It's really quite unnerving."  
  
From the other side of the room Pippin joined in with "Unnervin's not the word Ah'd use."  
  
Aragorn lifted the hand and put it back in Legolas-Boromir's lap. "Just stop it."  
  
The next morning Aragorn woke up before the alarm went off, stretched, and got out of bed to try and beat the usual rush for the bathroom. He looked over at Legolas-Boromir, then stared at them. They were sat up in bed, obviously still asleep, their hands curled protectively around a near-empty family size jar of sandwich pickle with a spoon sticking out, their face covered in it. Aragorn decided this must be one of those dreams when you thought you'd woken up, so he pinched himself. No, he was definitely awake. There was only one thing for it - get into the bathroom right now, so that he was in there when Legolas-Boromir woke up.  
  
The week passed, and once Frodo had been convinced that now he was not in possession of... that thing, Boromir was not a threat, and by Wednesday he was back to as normal as he ever was. Although he did twitch slightly when he heard Boromir's voice unexpectedly. It was now Friday and Boromir was in a good mood because he'd behaved himself all week when Legolas was at work, even when that school trip from the local girls' school had attempted to hold him down and sexually assault him, so tonight he was going to get alcohol. Legolas was also in a good mood because he knew that, as an elf, he had an amazingly low alcohol tolerance and if anything embarrassing did happen, he would be completely unable to remember it.  
  
Later that evening.  
  
"Legolas, Boromir, don't you think you should slow down a little on the drink? That is an elf body that you're in Boromir." Aragorn was feeling very, very sober in comparison to Legolas-Boromir.  
  
"He doesn't mind, do you Legolas?"  
  
"Min'? Why shou' I min'? Dad used to tell me `bout these great parties Galadriel had..." Legolas dissolved into fits of giggles, muttering about shaved eyebrows.  
  
Aragorn gave up. It looked like he was going to be the only one there who was reasonably sober, since the hobbits were under the table singing a combination of `ho ho ho, to the bottle I go' and Abba Gold. They seemed to be well on the way to passing out. Gandalf had acquired a large bottle of Goldschlager and a straw in the shape of a pair of glasses. Gandalf was now drunk enough to be laughing and going "look, y'can see all the pretty gold bits going round and round and round..."  
  
As Legolas-Boromir reached out somewhat shakily for their second bottle of beer, the telephone rang. Even when drunk Legolas-Boromir was faster than Aragorn.  
  
"Helloooooo, Fellowship residence, second mos' royal member, hee hee, of household speaking." Aragorn attempted to get hold of the phone but was batted away.  
  
"Arwen, heloooo." At this point Boromir took advantage of Legolas' drunken state and took over. "Little elvin whore wants a real man does she?"  
  
There was a torrent of abuse down the phone. "Yes it is Boromir. You want to speak about maintenance payments? Well, I don't think Aragorn's capable of maintaining anything much." Legolas giggled inopportunely. Aragorn considered this provocation enough for violence against both of them and slapped Legolas-Boromir to the floor. Aragorn tried to patch things up with Arwen, not helped by the fact that Legolas decided that this was the moment for drunken affection and was hugging his knees. Aragorn kicked him away; "I don't care which one of you it is, anything more like that and I'm calling the police to arrest you for sexual harassment."  
  
Legolas-Boromir decided to look elsewhere. The only other person still conscious was Pippin, atop a heap of comatose hobbits under the table, singing `Mama Mia', drunken falsetto `andante fortissimo' and licking the last drops from a bottle of Midori. "Heey, luke at tha' my thongue' gone green" said Pippin, both slurring and attempting to talk and look at his tongue.  
  
Legolas managed to focus. "Hehehehe! Pretty colours!"  
  
Boromir slapped Pippin heartily on the back, very nearly causing him to throw up, but Pippin wasn't prepared to lose alcohol that easily. "Remember the good old days?"  
  
"Wha? When you were tryin' tae kill Frodo in his sleep? Cos if ye're tryin' anythin' li'tha the noo you're gonnae have tae come through me." Pippin pointed at himself while swaying, the jabs at his chest threatening to overbalance him. "And afore ye say anythin' ah know, AH KNOW, it was you, tryin to cop a feel o'me in Lothlorien, taking advantage o'me bein' depressed, ya perv. AND, AND, you were like, 40 and no' married yet. That's a wee bit suspicious if you don't mind me sayin' so."  
  
Boromir narrowed his eyes. "I do mind you saying that. Anyway, Aragorn was 90 and not married."  
  
"Yeah, but he had the elf bird wi' the..." Pippin used international sign language to indicate `enormous bosoms' "and the..." Pippin attempted to outline in the air the shape of a woman, but ended up with more the shape of an aardvark stood on its tail. Pippin attempted another obscene gesture, but succeeded only in slapping the unconscious Merry in the face. "Sorry pal."  
  
Boromir was not going to let this drop. "And how many children did you manage to have with your wife? One? And this from the enormously fertile hobbits. Oh, yes and named after my brother. I sodding well died to save you and you name your child after my pansy brother! Anyway, I call that suspicious."  
  
"You never met mah wife. After the honeymoon, Ah try anything more than a suggestive look and she slaps me. With rolling pin. Jus after me for the money. No' as bad as Merry' wife, she started that before the honeymoon." Pippin stopped and looked slightly confused. "Least, tha's wha' he says. Tired. Sleep." Pippin gently toppled forwards until he was lying on top of the hobbit heap.  
  
Aragorn slammed the phone down. It was time to move on from the beer to the whisky chaser.  
  
Some time later...  
  
Aragorn and Boromir had moved on to large scale military anecdotes, interrupted by various inappropriate comments by Legolas, along the lines of `I used to have a bow an' arr... arrrr... arrrrrrr... pointy things. Kill orcs."  
  
Aragorn was in the midst of restaging the battle of Pelennor Fields on the kitchen table.  
  
"An, an, if this beer boll is me, being all kingy," Aragorn attempted to crown the bottle with an upturned bottle cap but failed. Aragorn looked round for more props "an if this toaster is the army of orcs."  
  
"Dead people. Were dead people." Legolas managed to make a vaguely pertinent comment.  
  
Boromir looked confused. "Dead people lying on groun' or dead people stanin' up and fightin'?"  
  
"Fighty dead people." Said Aragorn " This, this packet o' Doritos, is dead people."  
  
"Can I have some Doritos?" asked Boromir.  
  
"No! Are fighty dead people, can't eat them. Now need Eowyn." Aragorn looked for another prop. "An this, this," Aragorn tried to squint at what he was holding.  
  
Boromir helped him out "unconscious hobbit."  
  
"yeah, an this unconscious hobbit."  
  
Legolas interrupted. "name's Merry."  
  
"Ok, Ok, and this unconscious Merry hobbit is Eowyn." Boromir didn't like Eowyn. He didn't like anyone who managed to out-butch him, and he really, really hated it that Eowyn managed this while still being a woman. Well, probably, most of the time, or at least his brother seemed to think so.  
  
"He could be himself."  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"He was there. At battle."  
  
"Wasn' that Pippin."  
  
"Dunno. Can't tell difference."  
  
Some time even later...  
  
The hobbits had regained consciousness and to some extent sobriety and were sitting on the worktop swinging their legs and drinking coffee. Very strong coffee. They began to notice something. Or rather and absence of something, or someone.  
  
"Aragorn? Legolas? Boromir? Where'd they go?"  
  
"Dunno, was unconscious."  
  
Pippin looked sidelong at Merry. "Merry, are you alright? Cos when Ah passed out Ah was on top of you, an' when Ah woke up you wir oan the table. And Boromir..."  
  
"Nothing happened. I'd know, even if I were unconscious." Merry seemed very sure about this.  
  
"So where are they then?" The question was at least partly answered by the noise drifting in from the garden.  
  
"Firs' I wass afrai', I was pe'rified. Was thinkin' how coul' neve' live withou' you bymyside."  
  
The Hobbits followed the noise to its source, the back garden. Aragorn and Legolas-Boromir had their arms around each other's shoulders and a half empty bottle in their free hands and were swaying. They had got to the classic point of singing and the three singers, even though they were sharing two bodies, couldn't quite remember the right words, but all had their own ideas as to what they should be. As the singing descended into cacophony the neighbours started to come out of their houses to watch - they were as keen on a floor show as anyone, the only time they'd seen the whole neighbourhood together was the night the local Spar shop burned down. Frodo looked thoughtful. He had a score to settle with Boromir (Boromir had saved Merry and Pippin, but had made no effort to save him, and anyway anyone who sacrificed himself for those two had to be really weird.). He whispered his instructions to Merry and Pippin. So it would involve taking Aragorn and Legolas down too, but  
there was always going to be `collateral damage'.  
  
The window of the Hobbits' bedroom upstairs opened and there was the subtle click of a CD drawer closing. There was a pause and then the unmistakable sound of Donna Summer's `Hot Stuff'. Frodo grinned horribly as he saw that his plan was beginning to work; Legolas-Boromir and Aragorn's eyes lit up and they began to dance, Full Monty style. Or at least attempted to, sometimes it was a little difficult to tell, but he was fairly sure the neighbours were all getting the general idea. Frodo knew that the second part of the plan was also working when he looked up again to see Merry leaning out of the window, camcorder in hand.  
  
Legolas-Boromir started to attempt to remove their clothing. This was somewhat more difficult for Legolas-Boromir because they were still wearing Legolas' work uniform, which involved a waistcoat with far too many buttons. Aragorn had succeed in removing his shirt and was swinging it round his head to appreciative shouts from most of their female, and worryingly, one of their married male neighbours. In fact the number of neighbours had increased significantly, leading to suspicions that they had rung their friends while the entertainment was still at the Gloria Gaynor stage and several other camcorders were also in evidence.  
  
Legolas-Boromir was still having his problems with the waistcoat, so Aragorn loosened Legolas' tie and pulled the whole lot, tie, waistcoat and shirt, up over his head. And there was much rejoicing. Legolas-Boromir and Aragorn were dancing round, out of time to the music and attempting to be suggestive. Then it came to the chorus. They all attempted pelvic thrusts and all fell on their arses, but gamely got back up again and carried on doing it, only to fall on their arses yet again.  
  
At this point Mrs. Wainthrop arrived and Frodo and Sam both tried to hide behind each other before deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and retired to watch the rest of the proceedings from an upstairs window. On their way in, they passed Gandalf on his way out to letch.  
  
Mrs. Wainthrop was so angry she could not speak. She just stood there, pale and shaking with her lips disappearing into her mouth as she watched Legolas-Boromir take their trousers off and Aragorn attempt to do the same while lying on the ground. When Legolas-Boromir succeeded they toppled over to straddle Aragorn.  
  
"Finally, King `f Gondor where he shoul' be, or where I wan' him t' be..." leered Boromir.  
  
The next morning the Hobbits were well into second breakfast when Aragorn and Legolas-Boromir finally came downstairs. They all looked more than a little worse for wear and headed straight for the kettle to make some coffee, but the Hobbits ignored them and kept on talking.  
  
"Shall we go get Gandalf?"  
  
"Nah, just leave him there a bit longer. We'd need Aragorn to drive to the police station anyway and he's in no fit state to drive."  
  
"You know, I never thought Mrs. Wainthrop would actually call the police, I mean, she's threatened to do it enough times before, but it's never come to anything."  
  
"D'you reckon they'll charge him?"  
  
"Nah, he's pretty good at acting respectable, he'll get away with it. The worst that'll happen is that he'll get bound over to keep the peace, you know, if he does it again they'll put in him jail?"  
  
"Haven't they done that to him before?"  
  
"Yes, but that was when he was calling himself Mr. Merryweather, so it won't be a problem."  
  
Legolas-Boromir sat down at the kitchen table.  
  
"You know, I hate you even more than I did before, if that was possible. I'd hit you, but I think it'd just make me throw up again." Said Legolas shakily as he lowered his head onto the table.  
  
"Just because you're a wussy elf and can't hold your drink."  
  
"Who're you calling a wuss? Which one of us is dead?"  
  
Aragorn managed to look suspiciously at the Hobbits. "What's that in the padded envelope?"  
  
"Nothing." The Hobbits all attempted to look innocent (a feat which seemed to defy the laws of nature in the case of Merry and Pippin).  
  
"Didn't you have a video camera last night?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You're sending the tape to `You've Been Framed', aren't you?"  
  
The authors appeared wearing ill-advised furry parkas, headphones and holding strangely shaped microphones stupidly close to their mouths, but the fellowship were too involved in their argument to notice this strange phenomenon.  
  
"Good morning and welcome to 69 Waterton Crescent where the teams are warming up for the International Video in a Jiffy Bag Rugby Championship. Today's competing teams are the Men of Gondor vs the Hobbits of the Shire warming up by having a screaming row (as recommended by physiotherapists and sports scientists everywhere). The Men of Gondor, are unusually for them, fielding an elf. What do you think about that Bob?"  
  
"Well, normally that wouldn't be allowed, but as he has been possessed by a Man of Gondor the international committee have decided to allow it, although it does put them at a considerable weight disadvantage."  
  
"Yes, Bob, but the opposing team are only four feet tall. It looks like they've finished warming up and they're ready for the game."  
  
"It's a good start into the scrum with Aragorn son of Arathorn going in for the attack to gain possession of the video. Great aggressive play there, well supported by Legolas."  
  
"Though the hobbits are holding their own in the scrum, the real weight of the team are Merry and Sam. Most promising for today's fixture is the speed that Frodo can muster if he has a clear run; we hear he's been training hard, running into sideboards."  
  
"There was talk of Harlequins wanting him as their winger..."  
  
"Wait! Yes! The Video has been passed back and it's the Shire in possession, Pippin making a run for the door, not quite as fast as Frodo but still a good start."  
  
"But in from the outside come Legolas, I wouldn't like to be in his position, he's too wide to get him before he reaches the door."  
  
"Though Bob, there is the superior elven speed to take into account, and yes, he is right on Pippin's tail at the foot of the staircase, but the hobbits are supporting each other well this morning, and Pippin passes to Sam before he's tackled."  
  
"Legolas was committed to that tackle, so its up to Aragorn to slow Sam down, as the action moves out the front door and towards the halfway line. And yes, with a great burst of speed from the man of Gondor Sam is down! Aragorn has possession and passes to Legolas, but Pippin now sees he has a score to settle and both he and Merry are going for Legolas. Will the superior elven speed be enough?"  
  
"No! Legolas is down. I see now what you mean Bob about the weight disadvantage. That simply would not have happened if Legolas had not been an elf."  
  
"It's the Shire back in possession, and this is shaping up to be a great run from Sam, He's already sidestepped Aragorn, but those of us who remember him playing when he was king of Gondor know he won't give up that easily, and he's tailing Sam."  
  
"No..wait...yes, yes, he's tackling Sam!"  
  
"Oh, that was a beautiful moment, a perfect sideways pass, one handed, from Sam to Frodo as Sam was being tackled. You don't often see playing this good from the Shire."  
  
"Now it's all up to Frodo for that final burst of speed to the post-box. We all know about this player's problems, do you think he'll be dealing OK with this sort of pressure?"  
  
"Well, taking from his previous form in the quest to destroy the one Ring, Frodo can be relied upon to deliver the goods when it's needed, especially when backed up by such a reliable player as Sam."  
  
"He's a real team player isn't he Bob?"  
  
"Well, all the hobbits are, they're coming up behind him for support, but wait, what's this? It's Aragorn son of Arathorn coming out of nowhere, and he's closing the gap on Frodo."  
  
"There are the other hobbits though, level pegging with Aragorn, and yes, they appear to be trying to take him down before he reaches Frodo. Now that really is foul play, there should be a penalty awarded for that."  
  
"They are slowing him though, and we're getting no signals from the referee, in fact there doesn't appear to be a referee, and Frodo is nearly there, only a superhuman effort from Aragorn or Legolas could do anything."  
  
"They're trying, but, but, Yes! Yes! The Video is in the postbox! A truly marvellous run there from Frodo, and a convincing win from the Shire. Some marvellous play."  
  
"Yes, but a very disappointing match for Legolas, what do you think went wrong there?"  
  
"Well, it's the issue of having two personalities controlling the one body, something that all professional sportsmen try to avoid; those split second decisions simply can't be made by committee."  
  
"There is also the fact that one of the personalities is used to a much larger body."  
  
"Yes, and we can see that on the replay, when Merry and Pippin try and tackle him. Look here, you can see that he doesn't see them as a threat because he thinks he's got much more bulk than he actually has."  
  
"But overall a good game."  
  
"Great game, great game, and great result for the Shire; there'll be the 200 quid from `You've been Framed' for them in the very near future. For the Men of Gondor though, a result they'll be hard pressed to recover from, especially when that's shown on TV. A humiliating experience all round, and I think Boromir will be glad to retire again and return to the afterlife."  
  
"Well said. Well, that's all from us, and it's good bye from the house of the Fellowship."  
  
Authors note: Don't say we never do anything for you. For true authenticity we watched the England vs Scotland 6 Nations Rugby on Saturday, and Lady Alyssa is Scottish and Random Flatmate is English. * Random Flatmate starts chanting under her breath triumphantly `22-3, 22-3, 22-3', and moves on to `swiiiiing loooooooow sweeeet chaaaaariot.' There is a thump as Lady Alyssa twats her one with a hardback copy of Lord of the Rings. * So if anything more is going to be written we're going to have to start talking to each other again. 


	9. Fog Over the Job Centre

Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: Tolkein owns all, except for the porn titles which we made up; if they actually exist there is more wrong with the world than we ever imagined.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (language; large amount of implied m/f filth)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: Would help to read in order. We are sorry that we've neglected Gimli in the past, so this one's all about him.  
  
For non-Brits: `Blue Peter' a children's TV show that middle class kids are forced against their will to watch because it's Educational. John Noakes and Valerie Singleton presented it in the 1960s (yes, its been going that long, and it's still on), and the incident with the elephant really did happen. On live TV.  
  
Episode 8: Fog over the Job Centre.  
  
At breakfast Frodo was aware that something was subtly different.  
  
"The house is...changing."  
  
"I feel it in my water," Said Merry  
  
"I feel it in my muesli," said Legolas.  
  
"I smell it in the air," said Aragorn.  
  
"No," said Frodo. "That's just the breakfast burning."  
  
Frodo plonked a breakfast down in front of Pippin, who looked at it. "A shadow has fallen across my black pudding."  
  
"Whispers of a too-high grill setting," agreed Merry.  
  
"Any chance of some black pudding over here?"  
  
The fellowship turned to look at the unfamiliar face at the breakfast table. Then they realised what was different.  
  
"Gimli? What the hell are you doing here?" asked Aragorn.  
  
"Och, I was made redundant."  
  
"You mean it's shut. The ... factory" Merry and Pippin made hand gestures which made them look like they were auditioning for parts in the next big Bollywood movie.  
  
"Aye, the rubber factory's shut."  
  
Legolas choked on his muesli. "It's no every day you see an elf blow milk doon his nose at the breakfast table," commented Pippin.  
  
Gimli looked annoyed. "Noo that kind of rubber, boyo. The kind that you put on the end of your pencil." Gimli went from annoyed to confused when Merry and Pippin laughed so hard they fell off their chairs and the other, more mature, members of the fellowship were working hard to stifle their giggles. "Erasers. For rubbing things out."  
  
The laughing from under the table merely increased in intensity.  
  
"Gimli, just be quiet. You remember when we were watching TV together and it was the `Blue Peter' anniversary special and they showed the clip where the baby elephant peed down John Noakes' leg then stood on his foot? If you make them laugh so much that they throw up again you can clean it up." Frodo did not look impressed.  
  
"Ye didnae make John Noakes clean it up." Grumbled Gimli.  
  
"That's because John Noakes doesn't live with us."  
  
"I'd rather live with John Noakes than you lot," muttered Aragorn.  
  
"Really?" said Legolas. "And here's me thinking you only fancied Valerie Singleton."  
  
There were sniggering comments from under the table along the lines of "Here's one he made earlier" and some unrepeatable ones about `sticky back plastic'.  
  
The rest of the Fellowship went off to work and Gimli ambled into the living room to join Gandalf in his daytime TV marathon. Gimli managed to watch 20 minutes of a debate on how wearing glasses affects your life before feeling that he was slipping into a catatonic state and really should find something else to do, at least until `Quincy' started.  
  
Gimli wandered aimlessly into the kitchen where Frodo was cleaning the kitchen floor with a pink spotted handkerchief tied round his head. However, the handkerchief did not catch Gimli's attention quite as much as the fact that Frodo was naked. Gimli and Frodo screamed simultaneously and Gimli shielded his eyes as Frodo attempted to cover his modesty with the mop.  
  
"Is it safe to look yet?"  
  
"Um... I think so."  
  
Gimli kept his eyes shut anyway, just as a precaution. "Um... Frodo? Why exactly would you be washing the kitchen floor naked... without your clothes on?"  
  
"It's...I always do. There's never anyone else in the house, and I quite like it like this."  
  
"But what about me and Gandalf? We're in the house."  
  
"Yes, but you're asleep and when was the last time you saw Gandalf voluntarily get out of his chair?"  
  
"Well, there was that time with the -"  
  
"Yes, but his chair was actually, you know, actively on fire."  
  
"Did he see you?"  
  
"No, he was too busy trying to save the vodka."  
  
"Just promise me one thing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"If I get another job on the nightshift and you're cleaning when I'm upstairs in bed you'll at least wear an apron when you hoover the upstairs landing."  
  
Gimli wandered outside. The garden was blooming, thanks to Sam's efforts. Gimli thought that it could be helpful to do a little weeding (not that much needed doing), and reached for a weed, then remembered exactly how Sam kept the garden so verdant and sprang backwards throwing his arms into the air. He got on well with Legolas, but not that well.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
Gimli spun round and was confronted by Mrs. Wainthrop peering over the garden fence. "Um, yes, fine. It was... a nettle. I realised it was a nettle. Och," added Gimli for emphasis.  
  
"That nice Mr. Gamgee never usually lets nettles grow." She proffered a hand over the fence, "Mrs. Wainthrop."  
  
Gimli shook it uncertainly. "I know, I've seen you around." He wished he had the courage to add `peering suspiciously through a gap in the net curtains', but he'd also heard what Merry and Pippin had to say about her and wisely kept his mouth shut.  
  
"You used to work nights didn't you." The implication of `as a brothel slave' dripped from the end of every word.  
  
Gimli decided he neither liked, nor cared about the opinions of, Mrs. Wainthrop. "In the rubber factory. But it's closed down the noo."  
  
Mrs. Wainthrop's expression froze, her smile becoming a rictus. "I'd better be going in now, the cake needs taking out of the oven."  
  
"Nice to know you've got a bun in the oven" said Gimli completely innocently after the departing Mrs. Wainthrop.  
  
Gimli walked back into the house again, and paused outside the kitchen door.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Are you dressed?"  
  
"Not really, but I'm decent."  
  
Gimli cautiously opened the door, unsure whether to trust a definition of `decent' given by someone who hoovers naked. He saw Frodo thankfully wearing a pair of boxer shorts that came nearly to his knees.  
  
"Gimli... can't you go out somewhere or do something?"  
  
"Why? Like what?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps going down to the job centre and getting some application forms?"  
  
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"  
  
"Oh, no, its just you seem so bored, you seem like the kind of person who needs a job to define who they are." Frodo had learned much from watching daytime discussion programmes.  
  
Gimli was unsure whether or not to take this as an insult. "I was going to go there anyway. I'll be back for lunch." Gimli stomped off to the job centre.  
  
There was one consolation to being unemployed, thought Gimli as he tucked into his lunch; Frodo was a very good cook, and a firm believer in 6 good square meals a day - a good combination.  
  
"Um... Gimli. I don't suppose you want to go out anywhere this afternoon?" asked Frodo.  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"It's just, well, I'm having a meeting here this afternoon, and you'd only feel out of place."  
  
"Meeting? What kind of meeting?"  
  
"Just some people. A... society. You can't come." Added Frodo hurriedly.  
  
Gimli looked at Frodo suspiciously. He extended his hand and attempted to give Frodo a very complex handshake. Frodo looked at him confusedly. "What are you trying to do?"  
  
"Can I come to the meeting now?"  
  
"No! Gimli what are you trying to do to my hand?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing."  
  
Gimli retired upstairs to think on this. It was quite obvious that unbeknownst to the household Frodo had joined the Freemasons, and Gimli had therefore attempted to replicate a freemason handshake that some bloke had shown him in a pub 40 years previously. Like all non-members given the opportunity to find out exactly what the Freemasons got up to Gimli was going to grab it with both hands.  
  
Gimli was going through his wardrobe; he knew that the only way for a non-member to get into a Freemasons meeting was through subterfuge and espionage and for this he would have to look the part, the part of course being Tom Cruise in `Mission Impossible'. However, neither Gimli's wardrobe or physique were suited to this, but he did the best he could with the available materials and time. On his head he wore a black bobble hat, but as he was reluctant to part with his traditional dwarf helmet, this was also worn underneath. On his hands, a pair of oversized padded ski gloves, his feet, hobnailed boots which clanged when he walked as if a troupe of overweight elephants were attempting to replicate dance routines from `Singing in the Rain'. The only black jumper he could find was the one Aragorn wore when there was more than four inches of snow and came down to Gimli's mid calf, which was a good thing as the only black trousers he could find were his swimming trunks. Swimming  
trunks worn with iron underpants is an unusual fashion statement.  
  
He surveyed himself in the mirror. Where other people would have rung for the police or possibly the nearest mental hospital, Gimli smiled at his reflection because all he could see was the dashing, debonair secret agent double-oh-Gimli, licensed to chop people's legs off at knee height.  
  
Downstairs, Frodo was welcoming ladies to the Women's Institute meeting and feeling very impressed with himself; the homemade raspberry jam even came up to Mrs Wainthrop's standards and his scones were almost perfect. He gradually relaxed, he'd been worrying about hosting his first meeting for weeks and as they sat down to drink their tea - the right kind and not overbrewed - everyone was too polite to mention that the living room door appeared to have been barricaded and nailed shut.  
  
Upstairs in the Hobbits' bedroom Gimli was tying Pippin's black satin bed sheets round one of the bedposts of a set of bunk beds and was edging back over the windowsill. Slowly, he abseiled down the side of the house, gouging holes in the brickwork and humming the theme tune from `The Avengers'. Reaching the top of the kitchen window he paused, let out some slack on the bed sheet, locked his knees, swung back and burst in through the open kitchen window with the war cry of "Derek Nimmo!".  
  
Mrs Wainthrop was in the middle of the middle of giving some grudging praise to Frodo's jam while Mrs Ramsbottom was in raptures about his scones when Gimli made his dramatic entrance. He skidded across the table and landed on the floor with a thump, covered in raspberry jam.  
  
"Ooh, Frodo, did you get a stripper?" asked Mrs Cartwright, one of the younger and more impressionable members who Mrs Wainthrop disapproved of so much.  
  
Gimli attempted dazedly to stand up and assume the fight stances of about three different martial arts and, since each of them involved taking a different leg of the ground, he fell over, looking like he was trying to do the actions to `I'm a Little Teapot'.  
  
Frodo muttered some hurried apologies and tried to drag him out of the kitchen by the beard, to which Gimli responded with a cry of "Nobody tosses a dwarf!". All of the Women's institute, apart from the four most upstanding members - one of them being Mrs Wainthrop - began to giggle. Mrs Wainthrop gave them a death stare.  
  
Frodo had given up trying to drag Gimli out of the room and had crossed the mountains of anger to reach the plateau of calm where someone was about to get hurt.  
  
"What do you think you are doing?"  
  
"You mean you're not the Freemasons?"  
  
"No, we're not."  
  
"Then what the hell are you?"  
  
"We're the Women's Institute, the WI, yes, I, Frodo Baggins am a member of the Women's Institute. Satisfied?"  
  
"Yes," squeaked Gimli. He's seen the amount of damage Frodo had done to Aragorn in the past and decided not to push his luck, especially as Frodo' hands were round his neck. But there was one question that was still unanswered.  
  
"So how long have you...you know?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Wanted to be a woman?"  
  
"I do not want to be a woman! I never have wanted to be a woman and I don't dress up in women's clothing!" Frodo mentally added the `at least not very often'.  
  
"So why are you in the WI?"  
  
"I like making jam. And scones. And knitting with very sharp needles"  
  
Gimli became aware that the women were Looking at him. And Looking with a capital `L'. He was alone, unarmed and outnumbered. He made a tactical retreat.  
  
Legolas actually enjoyed having Gimli around the place; the friendship that had been cemented during the time of the Fellowship had actually lasted, finding they had lots of interests in common, such as mass orc slaughter and chess. Therefore, they spent evenings in actual conversations about current affairs, as opposed to the strange and circular ramblings he had with the hobbits. Gimli on the other hand was enjoying talking about matters that didn't pertain to the breaking point of rubber products.  
  
A week later Frodo was gradually getting used to doing the housework while fully dressed and generally having Gimli under his feet. It was getting to that time of year again when the bedrooms needed to be given their annual spring clean, which usually involved having half of their possessions thrown out and three weeks of arguments over the four year old, fluff-covered stick of Blackpool rock which someone had really wanted to keep. Since today's task was to spring clean the Hobbits' bedroom, it was likely that the services of Rentokil would also be required.  
  
When they were almost finished, Frodo gave Gimli the task of changing the sheets on all the beds whilst he went downstairs to do the ironing. Having made Sam and Merry's beds, Gimli turned to Pippin's, dreading it because satin sheets were so much more difficult to tuck in, when he saw something sticking out of the side of it. Closer inspection showed that, not only was there something sticking out, but also that there was a two foot long gash in the side of the mattress. Gimli attempted to investigate further, and pulled out what appeared to be a copy of `Enormous Bosoms Monthly', dated February 1973. There didn't actually appear to be any mattress in it at all. He delved back into the sordid depths of Pippin' mattress to reveal a copy of `Short Busty Women Annual 1985'.  
  
"Frodo..."  
  
"What is it?" called Frodo from downstairs.  
  
"About Pippin's mattress...?"  
  
There was the sound of washing being dropped and bare feet running up the stairs. "WhataboutPippinsmattress?" he gasped skidding round the corner as Gimli pulled out some 17^th Century erotic woodcuts and a late Victorian photograph of a woman of ample proportions wearing an excellent example of contemporary cantilevered engineering as a corset.  
  
"Oh." Said Frodo.  
  
"Yes, `oh' indeed. No wonder he's always complaining about how his back hurts in the mornings."  
  
Frodo sighed. "I've never understood it myself. All of the rest of us know about it and it's not like we mind. We've suggested that he keeps them in the cupboard or we get him a set of box files, but he insists on keeping them in the mattress. Are you nearly finished? Why don't I just make my own bed and you go downstairs and put the kettle on?"  
  
The suspicious nature of this statement entirely bypassed Gimli, who had become engrossed in another engraving. "Hang on a minute. This looks familiar. Is that...is that Pippin? With the ...?" Gimli cocked his head to one side. "Nononononono." He dropped the engraving as if it was on fire.  
  
"You should just be glad that his papyrus collection all disintegrated years ago. Really."  
  
When Merry and Pippin came home from work Gimli hid and was fortunately not present when Pippin gave them all the good news about recent success at work.  
  
"Ah've bin made employee of the month!"  
  
Aragorn, Legolas, Frodo and Sam looked at him, open mouthed.  
  
"You have been made employee of the month? You, Peregrin Took, have actually been made employee of the month? Who else are they employing? Orcs? Trained gerbils?"  
  
Merry was looking at Pippin. If looks could kill this one would have ripped out Pippin's still beating heart and shown it to him before he died.  
  
"He `ant told you `ow, `as he?" Merry's voice was very quiet and very threatening.  
  
"Ok, so how did you manage to get made employee of the month?"  
  
"Ah shagged ma line manager," announced Pippin proudly.  
  
"Did you get a pay rise as well?"  
  
Pippin looked confused.  
  
"You shagged your line manager, the woman they call `Big Bertha', for employee of the month and didn't bring up the subject of money during the, ahem, negotiations?"  
  
"Well, no, we had tae be quick, we were in the walk in fridge after all. And anyway, that wid huv been prostitution."  
  
Legolas shuddered. "I'm living off tinned food for the rest of the month."  
  
After dinner Gimli hid from Pippin behind his copy of the Guardian. The Hobbits stared in stunned silence as they watched Gimli and Legolas simultaneously finish reading their sections of the newspaper and wordlessly swapped them over. They even shared a red pen to correct the spelling mistakes with.  
  
The next night at dinner Gimli was looking Elvishly smug. That morning he had received a large brown envelope through the post, which had lead to salacious comments from Pippin about things that came in plain brown envelopes and Gimli going pale again.  
  
"So you've got a new job then?"  
  
"Yes, as of next Monday I'm a night watchman in a warehouse."  
  
"Warehoose? Are you sure y'read that right?" asked Pippin, sniggering.  
  
"Yes. I'm very sure."  
  
"So what kind of warehouse is it?"  
  
"It belongs to a, um, well regarded chain of high street stores."  
  
"What's tha tryin' to hide?"  
  
"Nothing, it's an old and well known company."  
  
"Well known as in notorious?"  
  
It was Pippin who made the connection. "There's a new Ann Summers warehoose just opened on the industrial estate, isn't there? Ye've got a job there, haven't you?"  
  
Gimli blushed.  
  
"Do y'get a staff discount, because, well, there was this thing in their catalogue..."  
  
"Yeah, it's Susan at the WI's birthday next week and she'd really like one of those suggestive ice cube trays."  
  
"And think of what you could do with..." Aragorn suddenly realised what he was saying and shut his mouth suddenly in a very determined fashion.  
  
"Yeah and they have a really good selection o'bras." all eyes flicked from Aragorn to Pippin.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Not for mahself of course. It's just that over the years I've learned a few things and the quickest way tae see women in sexy lingerie is tae buy them some. No that they stay in it for very long..."  
  
Gimli fought down the waves of nausea brought on by the image burned into the lids of his eyes by the engravings. He was going to be glad to be going on the nightshift again to get a bit of peace and quiet. 


	10. Random Slashy Interlude II: Peregrin Too...

Since our last Slashy Interlude featured the Shipping forecast we would like to dedicate this one to Sea Area Finisterre (once a great big lump of sea north west of Spain, now but a memory), which was replaced, on 4^th February, by Sea Area FitzRoy. Finisterre - this one's for you!  
  
RANDOM SLASHY INTERLUDE!! (No bearing on plot, can safely be missed out. If m/m, hobbit/hobbit, or interspecies filth disturbs you read no further. Before you get frightened Gimli makes no appearance whatsoever in this. If you acted in Lord of The Rings do not read this. If the others stories made JRR Tolkien turn in his grave this one's going to make him do the rumba down there.)  
  
Author: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here, he probably won't want them back after we've finished with them.  
  
Rating: R (SLASH, m/m not v graphic, but vv silly, comedic violence; flatmate strife; language; gratuitous hobbit nudity)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to revise/work.  
  
Story notes: You asked for more Aragorn/Legolas, we oblige. Don't say we don't listen to our fans or blame us when you say those bits are contrived - we both prefer Hobbits anyway.  
  
RANDOM SLASHY INTERLUDE!! (Just to make this absolutely clear - if you're going to read this just to flame us we'll only laugh at you. Lots. This is your final warning. Exits are situated in the `back' button on your browser.)  
  
Random Slashy Interlude II: Peregrin Took Strikes Back  
  
"What're you watching this crap for?"  
  
"There's nothing else on."  
  
"Yeah, but even Channel 5 soft porn's better than watching `The Faculty'."  
  
"Yeah, but it's `Hot FBI Babes' and Gandalf's already seen it four times and he gets annoyed with the main character and throws things at the screen whenever she comes on."  
  
Frodo looked over at Gandalf who made an obscene hand gesture and sniggered.  
  
"Oh, yeah, I know he doesn't like movies with that in it."  
  
Merry pointed at the screen. "'Ere, that short guy doesn't half look like you."  
  
Frodo looked at the TV and then made a face. "Doesn't look anything like me."  
  
"No, he's sooo much cuter than you are," said Pippin.  
  
"Shut up, Pippin."  
  
Aragorn wandered in and settled down next to Legolas on the other sofa, in fact, snuggled up to would probably be a better description.  
  
"Aragorn...? What are you doing? You haven't been on the, um...again have you?"  
  
"No, it's just that since we are technically married, I thought we should spend a little quality time together."  
  
"And by quality time you mean?"  
  
"I'm not that shallow, since when was my name Pippin?"  
  
Pippin was momentarily distracted by the mention of his name and faced Aragorn for long enough for Frodo catch him a whanging blow to the side of the head. The argument about whether or not Frodo was cuter than the short geeky guy in `The Faculty' was continuing on the other sofa with much force and also with fists.  
  
Aragorn stretched his arms upwards and brought one of them down round Legolas' shoulder.  
  
"Aragorn, you've been alive for over 6000 years. In that time have you learned nothing about romance, seduction or even subtlety?"  
  
"Sorry," said Aragorn as he slid his arm round Legolas' waist and leaned his head on Legolas' shoulder. "Better?"  
  
"You're just using me as an Arwen substitute."  
  
"If I was using you as an Arwen substitute I'd be trying to get you to swear at me in Elvish and talk you into giving me back my stuff."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really." Aragorn started nuzzling his face against the side of Legolas' neck.  
  
"Ah, no, not with stubble, stoppit, stoppit." Legolas collapsed into fits of the giggles, which only encouraged Aragorn to keep on going.  
  
The Hobbits stopped mid-fight and stared. Frodo with one hand round Pippin's neck and the other pulled back to punch him in the face and Merry with attempting to simultaneously pull Frodo's hair and kick Pippin in the groin.  
  
It was at this moment that Sam decided to come in from weeding the garden. The sight that confronted him was that of a tableau of scrapping Hobbits and Aragorn with apparently sucking Legolas' neck, and Legolas enjoying it.  
  
"Um...I'll just, ah, go back into the garden and, um, prune something."  
  
A week later Aragorn still hadn't given up on Legolas. Legolas had been presented with flowers, chocolates, theatre tickets, ballet tickets and, in desperation, alcohol.  
  
"Look, I said no."  
  
"Can't I even kiss you?"  
  
"No, I'll get beard rash."  
  
"You didn't mind last time."  
  
Legolas tone turned vicious. "No, just no."  
  
Aragorn looked completely heartbroken and Legolas felt like he'd just kicked a puppy, never mind that he'd seen this person run through at least 6 dozen Orcs. Legolas decided to go for the direct approach and hugged Aragorn in what he hoped was a comforting and manly way. However, Legolas wasn't very good at manly and ended up with his nose buried in Aragorn's hair. Being and Elf and therefore dirt-repellent, he had expected this to be a somewhat unpleasant experience as Aragorn was not a huge fan of baths, but his he found the aroma of manly musk with a hint of squirrel strangely alluring. At least his hindbrain did, his higher thought centres were trying to bury this thought and dance on its grave, but the Hormones were winning. Legolas realised that he was nuzzling into Aragorn's neck through his long hair and he was making small groaning noises and, again, his higher brain centres fought for control. This time they won and he pulled back from Aragorn, but all that this  
meant was that Aragorn was free to kiss him. And he did.  
  
Luckily for Legolas, or at least the less hormonally driven parts of him, Sam walked in. Aragorn made a mental note that next time he decided to try and seduce Legolas he would do it somewhere more private than in the kitchen.  
  
"Why does everyone in this house have an urge to do this kind of thing? And in public too." Sam looked slightly annoyed.  
  
Dinner the next night had an atmosphere. Merry and Pippin had stopped speaking to each other. The reason for this as soon as Pippin started speaking.  
  
"You know that Magenta at work has sooo got the hots for me?"  
  
Merry muttered under his breath. "Magenta? Her name's bloody Mavis Enderby."  
  
"Magenta, Mavis whatever, she fancies the pants off me. She's heard the stories and wants some hot Pippin lovin' for herself."  
  
Merry ran out of the kitchen and down the other end of the garden and hid behind the shed. Frodo went out to make sure he was alright and found Merry hugging his knees and snivelling. Frodo put his arms around him, which caused Merry to move on to full blown sobs, dampening the front of Frodo's nice clean shirt.  
  
"Why does he do this to me?"  
  
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself, you mean. You've known him all his life, he's been a complete slut ever since he found out there was more than one use for the contents of his trousers and he's cheated on you more times than I've been in mental institutions, even if some of the times he invited you along."  
  
"But I love him!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I can't help it!"  
  
"There is more to life than Pippin you know."  
  
"Doesn't feel like it."  
  
"You need some cheering up."  
  
"Can't be cheered up." Frodo kissed Merry. "Well, maybe if you try very hard you could."  
  
The next morning there seemed to be an invisible thread between Frodo and Merry, an invisible thread which appeared to be the temperature of molten lava as they both seemed to get very hot when they got within about a foot and a half of each other.  
  
When they were all sat at the table eating breakfast Sam felt something brush against his leg. Something hairy and the brushing definitely felt deliberate. In fact it was more of an up and down sliding. He gave Frodo a sidelong glance, but as Frodo appeared to be staring aimlessly out the window while sipping his tea he turned his gaze to Merry and kicked him in the shins. There was a gurgle and he guessed from the way Frodo suddenly seemed to reconnect with the same reality as everyone else that the sliding had not so much stopped as relocated itself.  
  
Early that evening the Fellowship was gathered in front of `The Weakest Link' as usual, or, in the case of two of its members, trying to watch TV - Aragorn may have been curled around Legolas in an excessively friendly way, but the TV was getting at least 90% of his attention. Merry and Frodo were suffering from a severe case of the wandering hands, but luckily for everyone else, they were only wandering over each other. Eventually they gave into temptation and attempted to reach second base, or possibly to pass it, but Legolas decided to put a stop to it.  
  
"Are you two going to tell us what's going on? Overnight you've gone from being reasonably normal Hobbits to acting like you're in the kind of movies Gandalf likes."  
  
Gandalf momentarily looked up. "No they're not."  
  
"Well, no, they're lacking in the `enormous bosoms' department, and the ones he likes tend to be six foot tall and skinny as opposed to four foot and overweight," said Aragorn.  
  
"Yes, but this doesn't answer the question as to what's going on."  
  
Merry and Frodo looked at each other in embarrassed silence, even though their hands still appeared to be doing their own thing.  
  
"Nothing. We're just showing a bit of friendly affection for each other."  
  
"Friendly like you and Sam in Mordor?" asked Pippin.  
  
Sam dignified this with the only suitable answer: he punched Pippin very, very hard.  
  
"Ow, ok, ok, nothing went on in Mordor, but friendly affection doesn't usually put that much strain on your trousers if you know what I mean."  
  
Frodo and Merry shifted slightly, which would in itself have been a bit suspicious, even more so when they moaned a little when they did.  
  
"Right, tell me what's going on," said Aragorn, who, from his experience in dealing with small children knew exactly when to use threats, "Or I'll make you watch the entirety of `Flipper'. Twice."  
  
Merry and Frodo gave in. "Merry was upset, so we took some of the elven aphrodisiac. Only half a shot glass each, though."  
  
Gandalf began cackling evilly.  
  
"A whole half shot each?" asked Legolas  
  
The two Hobbits nodded  
  
"And you didn't think to check what effect this had on Hobbit physiology?"  
  
The two Hobbits shook their heads.  
  
"Well, all I can say is that now would be a good time to buy shares in the company that makes KY jelly."  
  
Frodo and Merry exchanged horrified glances "What exactly does it do to Hobbit physiology?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Well, much the same as what it does to Elves - it makes you horny as hell - except that with Hobbits it lasts for about a week."  
  
"You mean I have to sleep in the same room as two permanently turned on Hobbits, whilst I've got a cold, for a week?"  
  
"Sorry. And what does having a cold have to do with this?"  
  
"Can me and Pippin sleep in your room for a few days?"  
  
"No," answered Aragorn and Legolas simultaneously. A little too quickly. Legolas filled in "You're all germy."  
  
"But it's going to be terrible," said Sam, while Merry and Frodo, as if to prove a point, started snogging again. "Could you two maybe do that somewhere else?"  
  
Merry and Frodo seemed relieved and attempted to leave the room sideways so that they neither had to let go of one another, nor stop kissing.  
  
Gandalf was a wise old wizard and so turned the volume on the TV all the way up. There was a cry of "Nightshift" from upstairs, but this was followed up by a somewhat more rhythmical noise. There was the sound of footsteps on the landing, a door opening and a scream. A few moments later Gimli appeared in the sitting room doorway, wearing a Noel Coward dressing gown over his paisley pyjamas, his Dwarf helmet and suffering from `bed-beard'.  
  
"I decided to get up early."  
  
The next evening Legolas was not in a good frame of mind. He had been treated to the sound of Frodo and Merry shagging before breakfast in their bedroom, after breakfast in the cupboard under the stairs and on arriving home only seconds before Merry being bowled over by the overenthusiastic Hobbit as he attempted to jump Frodo in the quickest time possible. He decided to try and get to the shower before certain randy Hobbits got any ideas.  
  
At the top of the stairs he was greeted by the sound of music coming from his bedroom.  
  
"Je t'aime, oiu, je t'aime,"  
  
He also thought he could smell musk scented candles.  
  
"Aragorn?" he called softly through the door, hardly daring to open it.  
  
"Yes?" said Aragorn, stripped to his underwear (thankfully not the Captain Scarlet ones) and reading a book on ancient Greek statuary.  
  
Legolas blew out the candles, turned off the music and turned the lights back on.  
  
"If this is your attempt at seduction, I really wonder how you and Arwen ever managed to have children, and no, please don't tell me."  
  
"Seduction? No, not me, I just wanted to read a book in my underwear."  
  
Throughout the rest of the evening Legolas was plagued by the constant sight of rampantly groping Hobbits, which was giving his hindbrain the advantage and this was not helped by the fact that the even his higher consciousness was admitting that Aragorn wearing nothing but his underwear was aesthetically pleasing, from a purely artistic point of view you understand.  
  
Legolas decided he needed some fresh air and some time away from the copulating Hobbits, so decided to go out into the garden. Silently, Aragorn followed him. Legolas turned his face up towards the sky to look at the stars, but felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He looked along the arm; it belonged to Aragorn.  
  
"I just came up to look at the stars."  
  
"I don't need to look at the stars, I can look into your eyes."  
  
"Aragorn, would you just stop the corny, Mills and Boon dialogue."  
  
"Why don't I just stop talking altogether?" Aragorn kissed him.  
  
Legolas' higher brain centre fused and melted together into one big messy lump and his hindbrain took over. He forgot entirely to offer any resistance when Aragorn tried to pull him to the ground.  
  
"Aragorn...quick, Mrs Wainthrop, the shed."  
  
Aragorn half stood and lifted Legolas, trying to carry him towards the shed while still kissing him. Half way there they fell over.  
  
"Fuck Mrs Wainthrop," whispered Aragorn.  
  
"Actually, I was rather hoping you'd fuck me..."  
  
"Thought you'd never ask."  
  
At 2am, Pippin was still sat in the kitchen, hunched over a mug of hot chocolate, scheming. It was not going well with Mavis at work; just that afternoon she had rejected his advances quite forcefully by hitting him with a four-pack of baked beans in the storeroom (the storeroom - one of the most painful places to be hit). Pippin rubbed the bruise thoughtfully; he was the self-proclaimed Don Juan of the Fellowship and while the others were getting laid, he was not. Who knows if it was the Palantir working it's deadly influence on him, but the plan formed, and evil was the plan, and evil was its execution.  
  
The next morning Sam was not feeling well, not helped by the fact that due to the activities of Frodo and Merry he'd slept on the landing. He could have slept on the sofa, but Gandalf was awake and perusing his video collection so it would merely have been the difference between live action and recorded. Pippin attempting to go somewhere at 2 am in the morning and standing on Sam's head had not helped the matter. He was sat at the breakfast table nursing a soluble aspirin, with various other cures for being under the weather that had been suggested by the rest of the Fellowship set out in front of him. They probably all interacted in horribly fatal ways, but he was immortal and was wishing he wasn't. He was not thinking terribly clearly as well (his brain had been replaced with something resembling molten marshmallow), so had even taken Frodo up on his offer of `why don't you take some of the anti-psychotic medication I get? It's not like it can do any harm.' The fact that  
this statement was in the same league as `it's unsinkable', and `nuclear power is completely safe' seemed to bypass him. Pippin's sudden and suspicious interest in his health and well-being had also not triggered the alarm bells it should have done - Pippin had appointed himself officer in charge of Sam's medication. The large glass of something green and frothy, made to one of Pippin's own recipes was possibly the most worrying.  
  
The others had all gone to work, but Frodo had stopped Sam from going as well. The strange, spaced out expression and the swaying were worrying him. Frodo in an attempt to, ahem, distract himself whilst Merry was at work was doing speed cleaning, scrubbing floors with very, very cold water, jogging round the garden a few times and when all else failed he was having cold showers. He had no idea how Merry was faring at work, but he hoped for Merry's sake he wasn't handling the baguettes today.  
  
"Sam, wouldn't you be better in bed?"  
  
Sam sat up and started twitching slightly. "Bed?" he repeated.  
  
"What did Pippin give you? Your pupils have completely dilated." Frodo leaned over Sam to check whether or not Sam had a temperature. There was no fever, but Sam was not reacting to him. He waved a hand in front of Sam's face. Sam changed from the morning's inactivity by pushing Frodo down to the floor and beginning to kiss him wildly. Frodo tried to get Sam to let go of him but Sam was both bigger and stronger than he was, and well, Frodo's heart wasn't really in it. Other parts of him were deeply interested in this.  
  
"Sam? Are you alright?" Frodo managed. He had known Sam for a very long time and while this was not altogether unwelcome it was deeply unexpected.  
  
"Fine, never felt better. Bed?"  
  
Frodo's brain was struggling for control. "No, no, you'll really regret this lataaaaaaaaaahhhh." Sam had settled the argument decisively. "Dontstop, Dontstop, Dontstop!" Sam, as the father of enough children for a couple of rugby teams, a couple of netball teams and a mixed hockey team, may have been unfamiliar with the geography but was well versed in the technique.  
  
Gimli had learned his lesson and just turned over and put his earplugs in as he heard Gandalf turn the volume up to maximum again.  
  
Pippin arrived home that evening, fully expecting to reap the rewards of what he had given to Sam that morning. However, Sam was nowhere to be found. He tried to be extra casual as he asked Aragorn whether or not Sam was home from work.  
  
Aragorn didn't even bother to look up from his copy of `Forestry Monthly - Sequoia edition'. "He never went to work, stayed at home because he was ill."  
  
Pippin paled. "Do you know where he is then?"  
  
"No idea. Probably in bed. He looked terrible when I left this morning."  
  
Had Pippin actually possessed a conscience he might have felt a little guilty about this, but all he felt was fear at getting caught and decided to make himself scarce. He headed out to the shed, passing Legolas coming in from work.  
  
"Where's he going?"  
  
"Don't know. Perhaps he's started archiving some of his dirty magazine collection out there."  
  
"Speaking of magazines, are you reading `Forestry Monthly' again?"  
  
"I only read it for the articles!"  
  
Legolas sat down. "Aragorn, about what happened..."  
  
Aragorn put down the magazine carefully. "You are going to find some sort of excuse as to why that was an aberration, elves don't have a sex drive and it'll never happened again?"  
  
"Um, no actually I was wondering whether this time we could try something involving fewer rose thorns and more feathers?"  
  
It was a true pity there was no-one around with a camera to capture Aragorn's expression, but it was only there for a moment before Aragorn and Legolas gave in to the inevitable and grabbed each other...  
  
The next morning Sam woke up feeling much better, but a little...odd. He was warmer than usual, but Frodo being wrapped round him explained this. So Frodo had had another one of his incidents, that wasn't unusual, but there was something else wrong. Oh. Oh dear. Neither of them were wearing any clothes. At all. There was something else wrong; he didn't have time to place it because at that moment Frodo woke up.  
  
"Sam? Whas' wrong? Oh...."  
  
"Oh indeed. What happened?"  
  
"Um...lots. Well, first.."  
  
"Stop, no, I don't need details, but I just need to know - we had sex didn't we?"  
  
"Um. Yes. Repeatedly. Sorry."  
  
"You knew I was under the influence of... something!"  
  
"Yes, but if it hadn't escaped your attention so am I! And you're bigger than me and quite... persuasive! And I would like to draw your attention to the fact that you haven't let go of me!"  
  
Sam went quiet. "Probably residual effects."  
  
"Whas' going on?" Merry stuck his head out from the other end of the duvet.  
  
"Please tell me I didn't..."  
  
"Don't worry, you didn't. You just asked to watch."  
  
"I'm going to have nightmares about that for weeks."  
  
"Er, Sam? How residual are those effects?"  
  
"Not very."  
  
"In that case, this would be a really good time to skip the queue for the bathroom. And don't come back for about 20 minutes?" the last comment was squeaked as Merry moved back up the bed.  
  
When they eventually came downstairs Pippin was already at the breakfast table looking quite smug. He had put two and two together and had worked out what must have gone on between Sam and Frodo and was looking forward to seeing the acute social embarrassment that would ensue. However, he was disappointed. They were acting fairly normally, well as normal as either of them ever got, and only slightly avoiding physical contact with each other. Pippin was wondering why he had even wanted Sam as a sex slave, and was also worried about possible recriminations. These worries proved to be well founded.  
  
Pippin, by Friday evening was starting to think that he'd got away with it, and that the Fellowship were blaming Sam's little `indiscretion' on an adverse reaction to buttercup syrup. However, they had just been biding their time. They were agreed that doing something as completely despicable as drugging someone to be used as a sex toy needed a suitable punishment, which needed preparation, thought and time. The cupboard under the stairs had been cleaned out, and a strong lock fitted. Pippin was taken completely unawares when, while watching `Father Ted' he was forcibly tied into Frodo's spare straitjacket, had two drops of the elven aphrodisiac forced down his throat, was gagged and then shoved and locked into the cupboard under the stairs. The Fellowship slept with earplugs in to try and ignore the howls from Pippin, unable in the straitjacket even to have recourse to Mrs. Palm and her five lovely daughters to relieve his suffering.  
  
Pippin, on his release was a changed hobbit, or at least a changed back hobbit. Whatever evil influence (the authors attempt to look innocent at this point) had caused his Machiavellian scheming, Don Juanism, and being even more of a bastard to Merry than he normally was, had gone, and everything was patched up, to the extent that Legolas and Frodo were even more careful in choosing a new hiding place for the elven aphrodisiac.  
  
Visit our Website! It's moved to [1]http://bagenders.stormpages.com because we were getting more traffic than our server could handle. Go on, go on, go on, GO ON! (has all the `Bagenders' stories and a little bit more)  
  
University life is continuing apace, people are expecting us to get to grips with the unfamiliar concept of `work', so frequency of updates will decline. We're very, very sorry, but Random Flatmate wants a first, but has too much self-respect to sleep with any of her tutors.  
  
References  
  
1. http://bagenders.stormpages.com/ 


	11. And the Sign Said 'Center Parcs'

Sorry there had been such a delay – life has been more conducive to angst than comedy, but to make up for it this one is extra long (like Andrex, but without the puppies)…  
  
Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones', and our own family holidays. Characters in string vests should be returned to 'Rab C. Nesbitt' c/o the BBC. The Chuckle Brothers belong to themselves, not that we really want them anyway.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous hobbit swimming trunks and much knicker elastic)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: For non-Brits: Alan Titchmarsh = Short-arse TV gardener. Charlie Dimmock = his female sidekick, who hasn't discovered bras yet. Rounders = pansy-assed baseball for kids. Center Parcs = posh very European holiday village with lots of outdoorsy activities and a big swimming pool.  
  
This is for all of you who said Pippin was incomprehensible before. You ain't seen nothing yet.  
  
Episode 9: And The Sign Said 'Center Parcs'.  
  
  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!! !! Nonononononono! Not the other one, not the other one! NO- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghargharghowowowowowowow!! Nonononono! Just leave it it'll fall off on it's aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooweoeoeoeoew!"  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli burst into the Hobbit's room to fend off their attacker armed with a hockey stick, a carpet beater and a distinctly over- endowed fertility statue, which was being held by its most inappropriate appendage. However, all they saw were the four Hobbits, looking at them in first horror, then confusion, moving swiftly to amusement when they realised exactly what Legolas was holding and where he was holding it. Legolas seemed unaware of this.  
  
"Who's attacking you? What's going on?"  
  
"We're not being attacked"  
  
"Then what are you screaming for?"  
  
"We're going to Center Parcs, right? And they have a swimming pool, right? Well, people are going to think it's a bit strange if a group of people, who, to the human eye at least look about nine, and as far as the people we're paying the money to are concerned, are actually nine years old, it would look a little odd if we had really hairy feet." Sam looked pleased with this well thought out reasoning.  
  
Legolas, however, had problems with it. "But waxing your legs is soo painful.You should have got that cream stuff for dissolving the hair." At the same time he made extravagant hand gestures with the fertility statue, causing the other members of the group to wince.  
  
"Tried that. It didn't work, Hobbit foot hair seems to be resistant to it." Said Frodo. Then he realised what Legolas had just said. "Anyway, how do you know how much waxing hurts?"  
  
"Yeah, I was married to an elf for thousands of years, and I see you get undressed for bed almost every night, I know you're not supposed to be so… smooth naturally."  
  
The rest of the room attempted not to laugh at the suggestiveness of this comment  
  
"Yeah, Ah've seen Arwen's legs, she's like a yeti, Ah don't know how you put up with it."  
  
Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "Pippin, how the hell do you know what Arwen's legs look like, you haven't seen her since the 18th century and back then women dressed from neck to ankle."  
  
"Well, she wis getting oot of her carriage and her dress got caught in the door, and then the horses got spooked and it drove away and took most o'her dress wi'it. She doesnae shave her armpits either." Pippin's eyes took on that faraway look associated with nostalgia. "First time Ah laughed til Ah wis sick."  
  
"You laughed until you were sick at Arwen's body hair?"  
  
"No, he bloody well didn't he were laughin at me."  
  
"Why was he laughing at you?"  
  
"Well, I were trying to get an ornamental peacock feather, for, you know, how's-yer-father, an' the bugger comes back and tries to attack me an that's what spooked the horses. An then these three other peacocks bloody well join in. Vicious buggers an' all, they are. That's why he laughed til he were sick."  
  
The rest of the Fellowship looked at Merry with even less respect than usual.  
  
"Och, look at the window, I'm soooo scared. It's a pigeon nooooo, not a pigeon!" said Gimli, trying for sarcasm and failing really quite badly.  
  
"Legolas, could you put the fertility statue down please," said Sam, sitting ever so slightly hunched over. "It's just that I feel a little threatened when you hold it like that, especially when you swing it round."  
  
Legolas, who had been absent-mindedly hefting the statue, threw it so that it spun and caught it again in the same place, to the horrified fascination of the rest of the room.  
  
"Oh, sorry."  
  
  
  
The last few days, which should have been spent constructively packing and trying to crowbar Gandalf out of his chair, were actually spent trying to prevent various members of the household from killing each other. This in itself was nothing unusual, what was strange was who was having homicidal thoughts, and about who.  
  
It had all started on Thursday evening when Frodo had been hiding in the sideboard because Legolas had decided that the group needed a little more culture and had tried to make them watch a film version of Wagner's 'Ring Cycle', which in retrospect had probably been a bad idea - next time he would just go for something less controversial, like 'The Magic Flute', although he could imagine the kind of comments that Merry and Pippin could come up with if someone mentioned any kind of vaguely suggestive musical instrument (and this being Merry and Pippin this included everything up to and including the xylophone).  
  
Frodo had been in the sideboard for almost half an hour when Sam had finally tried to start coaxing him out again, but Frodo had not been entirely ready (perhaps because Gandalf was sitting next to it humming the same four bars of 'Ride of the Valkyries' over and over) and when Sam had opened the door, kicked him so hard that it was a damn good job he wasn't married any more. Merry and Pippin tried the pro-active method of grabbing Frodo's legs and dragging him out of the door at the other end, but Sam, still being protective of Frodo, did not like to see him manhandled and tried to make Merry and Pippin let go of him. The upshot of this was that the three Hobbits outside of the sideboard had turned into three angry, hairy, balls of flailing fists, hitting everything and everyone within reach and wrongly blaming most of the damage sustained to themselves and the house on the other two. The upshot of this was that none of the three of them were talking to each other, or talking to Frodo, because it was all his fault for being insane and hiding in the sideboard in the first place. Frodo, the eldest of the Hobbits, had reacted to this in the most childish way possible by deciding that if they weren't talking to him, he wasn't talking to them either, and that the sideboard incidents were not his fault.  
  
The Hobbits didn't fall out very often, only once a decade or so, but when they did. They did it with style, or, a complete lack thereof.  
  
  
  
The Fellowship managed to arrive at Center Parcs with an uncharacteristic lack of trauma. This was mainly because Gandalf switched everyone's travel sickness pill for sleeping pills and as the Hobbits, Gimli and himself had taken them, spent the whole journey in blissful unconsciousness. His initial intention, however had been to switch them for aphrodisiac pills, but Legolas had caught him in the act and threatened to make him pay for the suspension in the car to be fixed and to have the upholstery cleaned if he carried it through, so there had been a last minute change of plan.  
  
This had left Legolas and Aragorn to have a peaceful journey. Or at least as peaceful as can actually be achieved when the journey involves a driver and a navigator and no third party to mediate, with certain Middle Earth touches.  
  
"You're an Elf, you're supposed to have a sense of direction."  
  
"I do have a sense of direction, it's just that you're ignoring all the directions given by the only one of us with a sense of direction."  
  
"Look, it should be that way, I'm part elf!"  
  
"Which part? Arse or elbow?"  
  
But they finally got there, having only gone round Wakefield town centre seven times looking for the M1, and then, with no inconsiderable effort, persuaded all the other occupants of the car to wake up.  
  
Legolas looked at the small chalet they would be living in for the next week with a sense of impending doom. He remembered what had happened when they had all gone to Butlins in the late 50s. Merry and Pippin had drugged Gandalf and entered him into the glamorous granny competition, and with the aid of a lot of make-up and a rather interesting dress, he had come third. At least it would probably be better than Pippin's suggestion that they all go to Ibiza, but only probably and not that much better. At least Pippin wouldn't be coming back with any interesting diseases; he seemed to have been collecting them over the years.  
  
The plan had been for the four Hobbits to share a room, but the way things were going, it seemed that that would be a little difficult. They were all still making a great show of the fact that they were ignoring each other, while actually paying as much attention to each other as possible in small and nasty ways, such as tripping each other up when they walked past, or, in extreme cases, dipping all of each other's underwear in water and putting it in the freezer overnight. The other members of the Fellowship were left in the disturbing knowledge that all four Hobbits were 'going commando' and it had taken them long enough to persuade them to start wearing pants in the first place and they could see the work of decades unravelling right in front of their eyes.  
  
All four Hobbits took their rucksacks into their bedroom and attempted to unpack while pretending to be the only other person in the room and avoid bumping into the other three at the same time.  
  
Since none of the Hobbits were able to cooperate for long enough to cook a meal and they were too small to cook in the human-sized kitchen on their own, the rest of the Fellowship had to take the unusual step of trying to fend for themselves and failing miserably. Dinner was the classic "Fromage sur toast" garnished delicately with big black burnt bits. Gandalf, of course, was taking no part in this and had settled himself in front of the TV.  
  
At this point the Hobbits decided, or at least made the unconscious decision to attach themselves to other members of the Fellowship in an attempt to show the others that their friendship was not the most important thing and that they could manage without them. Sam made the first move, attaching himself to Legolas, as the only member of the fellowship having his own level of common sense and a perception of reality shared with most of the rest of the world. There was then a domino effect of the other hobbits not wanting to be left on their own; however, the desperation led to some strange bedfellows (minds out of gutters, this is a clean episode). Merry, attempting to prove his personal butchness had attached himself to Aragorn; Pippin, since the idea of doing no work and being nasty to people appealed, attached himself to Gandalf, and Frodo, since there was no-one else left, attached himself to Gimli.  
  
Gandalf warmed quickly to the idea of having an acolyte. He used his wizardly powers to re-create 'his' chair, and another hobbit sized version of 'his' chair, in front of the TV (which to his delight had cable, but to his dismay did not have the Playboy channel). They both acquired cans of Tennants from an unknown, mystic source (Aragorn's supply in the loft that he thought no-one knew about). After dinner they were all settled in front of TV.  
  
Sam was checking the TV times. "Can we watch the Alan Titchmarsh season?"  
  
Pippin, now wearing a string vest for no good reason, said to the world in general, "Tha'ala'ti'mrsh'weebasser."  
  
There was a moment of complete confusion.  
  
"What did he say? Was that English?" asked Legolas.  
  
"Glaswegian. Haven't you heard the story?"  
  
"Ah'm'invennnorglasweginansoaham."  
  
"Yeeees…" said Aragorn, "He's not exactly the inventor. Perpetrator possibly. Centuries ago he tried to teach the old South Farthing dialect to some guys in a pub in south west Scotland…"  
  
"That's nothing like South Farthing dialect." Argued Sam.  
  
"I did say this was in the pub. And it has had a life of it's own since then."  
  
"Ah'wasbluddy'steamin'thenso'ahwis."  
  
They all looked at Pippin.  
  
"Whut? Ye'vegota PROBLEM wi'thatPAL?"  
  
While they were unsure of the actual words the sense of 'death threat' got itself across quite clearly. Gandalf seemed to have been thinking about something. "Alan Titchmarsh… Charlie Dimmock?"  
  
Aragron tried to appear casual, "Oh, really, well if she's on we'd better watch. For the gardening." He added hurriedly.  
  
"And not in any way because she doesn't wear a bra?" said Legolas.  
  
"Seetha'dimmock'naebrawhaaaaaaaaaeeeyyy. Whitasmasher!" Pippin seemed to think this was a good thing.  
  
Sam sighed. If the only way to get to watch his favourite programme was to let the rest of the Fellowship lech over the person he considered to be his dream woman, then so be it. They settled down to watch. Sam then realised that there was something being whispered, sotto voce by the whole Fellowship, and that was 'rain, rain'.  
  
"Do you know you're doing that?"  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Trying to get it to rain on her. It's a recorded programme anyway."  
  
"Rain. See-through. No bra. Hehehehehehehehehe" Gandalf had gone into a little world of his own.  
  
  
  
The next morning Aragorn and Legolas were having doubts as to being 'adopted' by the hobbits and were trying unsubtly to get rid of them so they could go pony trekking together. Sam had easily agreed to be left behind, muttering something about going for a walk to have some time to himself, but Merry was proving harder to shake off. This called for some drastic action.  
  
"And what's your name?"  
  
Merry was so angry he thought he might explode, but in the name of all those confronted by a really patronising childminder said "'s Merry."  
  
"And how old are you Merry?"  
  
"37"  
  
"Come on then, no lying young man. You were left here by your daddy, and, and" she sought desperately for a word to describe Legolas, and decided to go for the politically correct route, "his friend, and we know you're 10. Why don't you introduce yourself to all the other children."  
  
Someone was going to suffer for this. However, he was going to have to wash the face paints off first.  
  
  
  
Frodo and Gimli had decided to indulge in the age-old holiday pastime of cheating at crazy golf.  
  
"Seven!"  
  
"No way is that seven, Gimli, you're up to twelve at least."  
  
"But I'm using the old dwarf counting system."  
  
"Yes, the same one they use when they owe you money?"  
  
"Look, it's seven!"  
  
"Alright, seven it is. Can we get on to the second hole now?"  
  
They moved round the course to the next hole, which was already occupied by a family of four. Gimli smiled at them in an encouraging way and they decided that they would really much rather go canoeing.  
  
Each of the holes on the crazy golf course was designed to look like a famous monument from a country around the world and the second hole was representing France with a fibreglass Arc de Triomphe which had a small, but also disproportionately large, model of General De Gaulle which circled round it, attempting to knock the ball off course.  
  
Gimli started to make a long, complicated joke requiring a lot of background knowledge about entry into the European Union, but Frodo looked at him and he shut up. Frodo placed his ball on the starting point and teed off.  
  
"Yes! Hole in one!" He took out his pen to fill in the scorecard. "And that takes my score up to two." He said with uncharacteristic triumphalism.  
  
Gimli teed off. General De Gaulle and the ball connected and the ball shot off onto the footpath. Gimli gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long game.  
  
  
  
Legolas and Aragorn arrived back at the pony trekking centre to find that they were entirely alone.  
  
"Not exactly what I'd call a trek for advanced riders. I mean they couldn't keep up after we started galloping along the track, and the first half wasn't that twisty."  
  
"Yeah, I mean any fool can canter through thick woodland."  
  
One of the horsey looking women appeared.  
  
"What happened to the rest of your group? And what did you do to the horses?" They looked down at their horses, which were steaming quietly.  
  
"I have given this horse a proper run. He hasn't done this in goodness knows how long. And he likes it, don't you?" Legolas patted the horse's flank affectionately.  
  
"Who do you think you are, the bloody horse whisperer?"  
  
"No, if you whisper they can't hear you properly."  
  
"And I suppose it'd follow you to hell and back now?"  
  
Legolas looked at the horse. The horse looked at Legolas. They seemed to reach an agreement. "Well, if we were both definitely going to come back from Hell, then yes."  
  
"This does not answer the question of where the rest of the group have gone."  
  
"I don't think they could keep up in the foresty bit."  
  
"What do you mean 'they couldn't keep up in the foresty bit'? It's so thickly wooded you can't go much faster than a walk."  
  
Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other. Legolas tried to raise one eyebrow at the horsey woman, Roger Moore style and Aragorn tried not to laugh.  
  
The horsey woman finally lost her temper. "Fine! If you think you can canter through the sodding woods, then you just canter back through the woods and find them again."  
  
As they trotted off, Aragorn turned to Legolas. "That woman didn't half look like Eowyn. Got the same evil temper as well."  
  
  
  
Later, back in the house Aragorn realised that there was something missing.  
  
"I'm pretty sure we didn't leave any of them behind in the forest." Said Legolas.  
  
"No, it's not that. It's something else, something…smaller."  
  
Pippin looked over from his miniature throne of power. "Yislef'ma'stupitbassard'ufacosin'innacrechewi'theweans"  
  
"What did he say?"  
  
"Pippin, could you repeat that, only more slowly."  
  
"M'cousin. Stupitbassard. Eatslotsanissadrunkenbam."  
  
"Hang on, I think I got some of that. His cousin." Realisation dawned over Legolas' face, like sunrise at the sewage works. "Ohmigod! We left Merry in the crèche."  
  
"Don't worry, the crèche doesn't shut for another hour and a half, we can leave him there a while longer."  
  
As if summoned by some divine force, there was a knock at the door. When Aragorn and Legolas opened it, they were greeted by an efficient looking young woman holding Merry by the scruff of the neck, who was accompanied by a man who could only answer to the description of 'bouncer'. Or possibly 'hitman'.  
  
"Is there anything wrong?" asked Legolas, attempting to slip into the role of completely ineffective parent.  
  
"Well, now that you mention it, there is. Or more accurately, there are. He has taught every child in the crèche more swearwords than even I know."  
  
Legolas thought about coming back with a witty riposte about how she looked like the kind of woman who didn't know many swearwords to begin with. Or at least none worse than 'knickers'.  
  
"I dint mean to teach 'em the swearwords, I just got me finger caught in t'cupboard door and it really hurt."  
  
"Yes, and you swore solidly for five whole minutes." She turned her attention back to Aragorn and Legolas. "And then he broke Tristan's nose in the rounders tournament."  
  
"It were an accident, and anyway, he was cheating. I were going to get a rounder and he was deliberately blocking me. 'Snot fair."  
  
"There was not reason for you to physically run over him and stand on his face."  
  
Merry at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed at this allegation and shuffled his feet.  
  
"Just like there was no reason for him to cut of one of Chloe's pigtails."  
  
"She said she wanted a haircut, and when she decided she dint like it I tried to make it better."  
  
"By sticking the pigtail back on again with PVA glue."  
  
Pippin was looking dangerously close to the 'laughing until he was sick' stage and Frodo, who was quite perceptive in these matters, went for a bucket and positioned it next to his chair. Managing to do all of this while still making a great show of ignoring Pippin was quite an achievement.  
  
"Then of course, we come to the catapult. I suppose it was naïve of me to start talking about knights in shining armour, because Merry here seems to know all about knights in shining armour. He tried to demonstrate using a small catapult made out of Lucinda's knicker elastic to fire pencils."  
  
"Lucinda dint mind, she got extra goes on the catapult cos it were her knicker elastic."  
  
"Yes, but Lucinda's parents minded. They're thinking of taking legal action. And we haven't even got on to the miniature siege engine."  
  
"'S called a trebuchet. An' it worked an' all."  
  
"Yes, we know it worked. That's why the crèche doesn't have any windows any more, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh dear, we're so terribly sorry. He's never like this at home." Lying came easily to Aragorn after centuries of practise of lying to Arwen ("No dear, I haven't been on Crusade…I've been inspecting the outlying farms. The suntan? No, that's just dirt, it'll wash off when I have my bath next month").  
  
"Well, all I can say is that he's never, ever coming back to the crèche. And if Lucinda's or Tristan's parents decide to sue, I'll pass on your contact details." She tried to sweep out of the chalet as dramatically as her sensible shoes would allow and slammed the door, but not too loudly.  
  
Merry sat down in front of the TV looking suspiciously pleased with himself. Getting himself banned from the crèche had been quite fun and eventually worth it for the look on Aragorn and Legolas' faces. And at least they couldn't send him back again.  
  
"Where's Pippin gone?" Aragorn looked at Frodo. "Has he laughed himself sick again?"  
  
"Nah. Laughed till he wet himself."  
  
  
  
It had come to the time that occurs in every holiday, much like the 'crisis' of any serious illness, when it is decided that We Will Do Something As A Group or in this case As A Fellowship. Since it was easiest, it was decided that they were all going to go swimming. All of them. At the same time.  
  
The hobbits looked reasonable normal. Well, reasonably normal stood next to the others. They were all wearing very long, very baggy swimming trunks, with ill advised designs on them, so they all looked like very, very small surf dudes, or at least they thought they did. The effect was somewhat spoiled by Pippin still wearing the string vest, and Sam wearing a pair of water wings. And holding a polystyrene float under each arm. And wearing what looked suspiciously like a navy surplus life jacket which came to his knees. However, next to Gandalf this was normal.  
  
Gandalf was sporting a most fetching and fashionable 'bathing costume', straight out of the couture catalogues of 1891 (or more accurately straight out of the back of Messers Smith and Watson Clothing Suppliers at 3am in the morning). Thankfully for the rest of humanity it covered him from neck to knee, but even Gandalf's shins were fairly worrying. This had horizontal stripes, which gave him the appearance of an elderly, evil version of the Michelin man. He had a waterproof pointy hat on his head, and was wearing an inflatable ring which had a holder for his can of Tenants.  
  
Gimli could not be persuaded to forgo the helmet, and in deference to his dwarvish heritage his swimming trunks were made of chain mail and leather. Gimli was probably the local fetish supply store's biggest customer, but not for the normal reasons. Legolas and Aragorn were getting a lot of attention because they were both wearing very, very small speedos. Ok, so maybe some of the attention had the undertone of 'poof', but more of it had the undertone of frustrated middle-aged mother. The attention given to Legolas increased as the group approached the pool and Legolas put on a pink swimming cap. The Fellowship stopped and looked at him disapprovingly.  
  
"What? Just because I actually care what chlorine does to my hair…"  
  
They gave in. There was no point arguing with an elf that felt it's hair was under threat, but they had great trouble at suppressing their giggles at the way his pointy ears stuck out round it. Gandalf waded out to the centre of the pool, and bobbed about leering at anything over the age of 18 in a swimming costume, even the woman who looked like a clone of Ann Widdecombe. Frodo dived in and started splashing about, doing handstands under the water and so on. Aragorn went into butch mode, i.e. doing the butterfly and manfully half drowning the rest of the swimming pool. Legolas swam in old woman style, doing the breaststroke very slowly with his head lifted as far out of the water as possible. Gimli and Sam remained sat on the side of the pool together, dipping their feet in the water and nothing more. Merry and Pippin headed straight for the water slides, trying to avoid each other while doing exactly the same things. This even included when the inertia of Merry's greater bulk meant that he caught up with Pippin half way down the water slide them ignoring each other.  
  
Frodo splashed over to Sam. "Come on Sam, get in the water. It slopes really gently, just try coming in up to your knees."  
  
"Thought you weren't talking to me."  
  
"Fine!" said Frodo and swam off again.  
  
  
  
After the swim, they went to lunch, at the Pancake House. A muttered suggestive comment was made by Merry about Dutch Pancakes, an in-joke with Pippin who tried to ignore it.  
  
"Achshutyerface!"  
  
Merry attempted to give Pippin the finger, but Legolas grabbed his arms and put him in an arm lock. He didn't know what Tristan's parents looked like, but he could see a family across the room with a boy with a bandaged nose giving them very dirty looks.  
  
It was only later in the evening that the full effects of the pancakes, or rather the bizarre pancake Frodo had ordered.  
  
"Don' feel well," said Frodo, going green, and running for the bathroom, followed by the sound of copious vomiting. Sam, completely forgetting they weren't talking to each other, rushed after him.  
  
"I think he meant it about not feeling well. Anyone else feeling nauseous?"  
  
"If Gandalf keeps all his clothes on, I'm fine." Said Merry.  
  
"Ah'm OK"  
  
"Pippin?"  
  
"Tha's me."  
  
"Are you being comprehensible again?"  
  
"Whut d'ye mean agin? Ah'm aywis comprehe – comprehenenen - understandable."  
  
"You weren't before." Said Merry, with feeling.  
  
"Was."  
  
"Were not."  
  
"Was."  
  
"So you're talking to me now?"  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
"Why weren't we talking the first place?"  
  
"Search me. Why weren't ye talkin' tae me?"  
  
"Cos you weren't talkin' to me, y'great long dollop."  
  
They hugged to make up, then decided that this was going beyond the bounds of manly affection and sprang apart.  
  
The sounds of intermittent illness were still coming from the bathroom. Aragorn decided to investigate, if only because any one person spending a large amount of time in a bathroom shared between 8 people is not going to make themselves popular. He found Frodo hugging the toilet bowl, and muttering that there was no way he'd eaten as much food as he'd thrown up. Aragorn could think of many ripostes concerning the food capacity of the average hobbit, but suppressed them. If this was going to go on for a long time then it called for action.  
  
A few moments later the rest of the fellowship was treated to the sight of Aragorn running to the kitchen sink with Frodo under one arm, and impressively managing to make it before Frodo threw up again. Being that Frodo was a Hobbit and could not stand in front of the sink to throw up in it in the approved hungover fashion of students everywhere, the draining board was cleared and Frodo was plonked on there, where he proceeded to curl up and start feeling sorry for himself.  
  
After spending the entire night on the draining board Frodo reckoned that he must have got rid of everything that was causing him to be sick and, feeling a little better, decided to have some breakfast.  
  
  
  
Gandalf was not happy. He had lost his acolyte to that knotty-pated puttock of a Hobbit Meriadoc. This place was infested with, he shuddered, children. He was really coming to believe in the sentiment that they weren't children, they were monsters and the Hobbits were in league with them.  
  
Gandalf was getting paranoid. A more naïve reader may assume that this was because of some flaw in his character, but it was actually because Gandalf had broken the primary rule of drinking. He'd drunk something that even the makers weren't sure what it was, ignoring the clear labelling of the substance as 'vadko'. Ethnic spellings such as 'wodka' are acceptable, although they may not have the same attitude to 'percentage proof' as the rest of us, but 'vadko', is generally a way of saying goodbye to both brain cells and stomach lining.  
  
The upshot of this was that Gandalf had to get out. This being Center Parcs, the car was parked a long way from the chalet to force them to walk or cycle everywhere. He decided to take the bicycle as there was a chance it might get him out of there faster.  
  
The Fellowship were having lunch on the small patch of grass in front of the chalet, and as per usual being viewed as legitimate entertainment by all those around them. They were all a little confused by the grey blur on wheels that passed them, narrowly missing their spare plate of sandwiches.  
  
"That was Gandalf wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"What was that tune he was humming, it sounded familiar."  
  
"It sounded like the theme tune from the Great Escape, only speeded up."  
  
"Gandalf wouldn't try and do a Steve McQueen on a bicycle would he?"  
  
"This is Gandalf, remember."  
  
They jumped to their feet with random cries of 'Alaaaarm!' and 'man the bicycles!' and as one being of assorted species leapt on to the bikes and began the pursuit. Having youth, or at least eternally preserved youth, on their side it should have been easy to catch him up, but as Gandalf had the rampaging paranoia the odds had been evened somewhat.  
  
Supplying such a 'diverse' group as the fellowship with bicycles had been something of a challenge. Three BMXs had been provided for the Hobbits, but since there was nothing else appropriately sized for the fourth Hobbit, Pippin, who had drawn the short straw, had been stuck with a pink girl's bike with training wheels so rusted on that Aragorn's attempts to remove them had been useless. Gimli, since he lacked the sense of balance for a bike was on a tricycle and as for Aragorn and Legolas, well their mode of transport was a strange and complex beast. We could describe it as being like the vehicle the Chuckle Brothers drive, but since they don't exist outside of Britain and most people wouldn't admit to knowing who they were in the first place it would be pointless.  
  
It seemed to consist of two benches, the one behind designed for two adults and the one at the front for as many small children as can be squeezed on to it. Two bicycle mechanisms were attached underneath and could be reached through the complete absence of floor. Neither of the two bicycles mechanisms had such useful things as gears, which was making keeping up with the others rather challenging. The fact that steering had to be done by committee didn't help either.  
  
"Legolas, we've got to slow Gandalf down! You're the archer, why don't you do something?"  
  
"If it may have escaped your notice, but I don't have a bow and arrow."  
  
"Improvise!"  
  
Legolas made a grab for Aragorn's waistband.  
  
"This is neither the time nor the place for that!"  
  
"It's nothing like that, my goodness, humans have such one-track minds. I need the elastic out of your underpants."  
  
"What?"  
  
"To make a catapult, you idiot. I think Merry's given me some ideas, you lot are really starting to get to me."  
  
Aragorn found out that it is nigh-on impossible to steer a four-wheeled bicycle when someone is trying to remove the elastic from your underwear. Families sitting around quietly, enjoying the afternoon sunshine, eating lunch outside of their chalets were treated to the somewhat…unusual sight. An elderly gentleman with long, flowing hair and beard, wearing a grey dress was riding a bike at high speed, pursued by four children and a short, bearded gentleman on a tricycle. A few moments later they were followed by a four-wheeled bicycle, weaving erratically and occupied by two gentlemen in a most compromising position who appeared to be in the midst of an argument in Welsh. Something for the photo album.  
  
"Got it!" Legolas waved Aragorn's underpant elastic triumphantly. "Now we need ammunition." He leaned out of the side and grabbed some pinecones off the ground. He then teetered precariously, holding on to the side and leaning out of the bicycle and firing the pinecones at Gandalf in approved 'mobster-in-car' fashion.  
  
"Can't you steer a bit straighter, some of us are trying to aim here!"  
  
"I would, but some fool just took my underpant elastic and now I have to use one hand to hold them up!"  
  
  
  
Half an hour and many small injuries later, Gandalf had been captured and forcibly restrained in the chalet.  
  
"What's got into him?"  
  
Frodo picked up a bottle. "More like what's he put into him…"  
  
"Oh no, not the 'vadko' again. Honestly, I'll have to talk to the newsagent about stopping selling this stuff."  
  
Legolas looked worried. "You know what happens when he drinks this stuff. We have to get him home where he feels safe."  
  
"Yes, but how are we going to cope with him in the car all the way home, it takes three hours at least."  
  
Pippin looked thoughtful. "Weel, he doesnae have tae be * in * the car."  
  
The rest of the Fellowship looked at Pippin as they slowly realised what he was suggesting.  
  
  
  
Legolas sighed contentedly. "It's so nice without Gandalf in the car. It's easier to split the Hobbits up and it doesn't smell." There was a muffled thump from above. "Although I think we'll probably have to hose out the roofbox when we get back."  
  
Author note: Pippin IS understandable in this one. Say it out loud; we swear he's comprehensible, we haven't made him very Glaswegian at all. 


	12. Strider: Scoutmaster

This episode is a tribute to Spike Milligan, whose sense of humour has been warping us from an early age, so there are references to the Goon Show throughout. Again, sorry for the delay, but it's another long one.  
  
Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. Bottle, 'yingtong' and Molly Nasher belong to Spike Milligan. Utterances of 'Celeriac' and 'Revenge' belong to Vince of Rex the Runt. Since Shakespeare has been dead for a very long time we would like to stake our claim of having actually written Macbeth, in fact, all of his plays. We have no connection to either the Scout Association, Warhammer or Procul Harum, and no desire to, except in the case of Procul Harum.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous Hammond organ.)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: The Boy Scouts are for boys and the Girl Guides are for girls, except that a few years ago someone decided to go all PC and girls can now join the Scouts, but most still join the Guides. Haven't heard of any boys trying to join the Guides…  
  
  
  
Strider: Scoutmaster  
  
Legolas had always found Saturday morning to be the most relaxing part of the week since Merry and Pippin never seemed to get up before one in the afternoon at weekends and Gandalf had a warm spot in his heart – or other places – for Saturday morning TV presenters; it was all the bounciness, or, more accurately, the bouncing.  
  
Over the past few years Legolas had evolved his Saturday morning routine. Every week, using just his elven instincts he woke up at exactly 9.30 am, took a relaxing bath with no-one else banging on the door waiting to be let in, went to the paper shop to buy his copy of the Guardian and came home to make himself a cup of earl grey tea and enjoy having the entire kitchen table to spread the different parts of his newspaper out on. The fact that all of this – except for the bath of course – was accomplished while wearing a full length, Victorian, gentleman's brocade dressing gown had ceased to cause comment in the area since he had done it every week since moving in and the joke had worn thin after about two years.  
  
Only this week, his ritual was disturbed by Aragorn who usually took advantage of Saturdays to spend the entire day in his boxer shorts and some other random item of clothing depending on the weather. Today, most disturbingly, it was a cardigan.  
  
"Legolas, I have something to tell you…"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I've become a Scoutmaster."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"And I'm going camping with them."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Next weekend."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Legolas? Are you listening?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I've sold the house to an international terrorist organisation."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I've told Celeborn he can come live with us. Permanently."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I thought you weren't listening. None of it's true, well, some of it is."  
  
"Celeborn's actually coming to live with us?"  
  
"No, last I heard he was heading for the Mongolian border. The bit about becoming a Scoutmaster."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I've become a scoutmaster."  
  
Legolas raised his eyebrows so much it looked as if they were attempting to make a break for freedom from the top of his head. He had known Aragorn for thousands of years and was sure that any 'criminal' tendencies would have become apparent before then. He really didn't have Aragorn down as the type who went 'scouting for boys'.  
  
"Why? Why have you become a scoutmaster?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking about what Mrs Wainthrop keeps saying about how we should be more respectable, I thought that with my woodsman skills I could be really useful to the scouts, and be respectable at the same time."  
  
"Let me get this right. You have become a Scoutmaster in order to try and become respectable? Were there no openings for gigolos?"  
  
"What do you mean? It's a well respected youth organisation."  
  
"I've met Baden Powell." Said Legolas very darkly.  
  
"Wow! Could you come and give a talk?"  
  
Legolas looked at him again. There followed some long and detailed explanations as to what it was he was trying to get at, followed by equally long reassurances from Aragorn that, no he wasn't like that and no, none of the people running the local scout unit were either. Legolas was slightly reassured, until Aragorn told him that he had told Frodo about this on Wednesday and Frodo had enrolled himself as a skills instructor to teach them how to cook; however Sam had heard about that and had enrolled himself as a skills instructor to make sure Frodo got out of it alive.  
  
Saturday afternoon was spent shopping for camping equipment. Aragorn was the only one who had been camping in the last few years, well, if you could call it camping, he just went off walking in the hills and weather sort of happened around him and his survival bag, so there were a few things they needed before venturing off into the great outdoors again. After several hours, the rest of the Fellowship began to get a little concerned, or at least Legolas did – surely it didn't take this long to buy a few sleeping bags, rucksacks and tents.  
  
As if in answer to his unspoken question, Aragorn's landrover pulled up in the driveway. Or at least it looked like Aragorn's landrover. Aragorn's landrover didn't usually have this much stuff crammed into the back or strapped to the sides. Neither did the suspension usually trail along the ground. Aragorn and Sam both got out and removed a few large carrier bags each from the back of the landrover and walked towards the door, leaving Frodo to take care of the rest.  
  
"Isn't that a little unfair, leaving him to carry in all those bags like that?" Said Legolas.  
  
"What do you mean? This is ours, all that's his."  
  
Frodo insisted on giving the rest of the household a demonstration of each of his new purchases. It was certainly educational – none of them had ever seen a solar powered lamp or collapsible espresso maker – and also most entertaining, especially when Frodo modelled his full body mosquito-proof suit.  
  
"Frodo, we're going camping in the North Yorkshire Moors. There might be midges, but there definitely aren't enough to warrant the bio-hazard anti- midge suit."  
  
"Yes, but you never know. And you never know where we might go in the future, I mean, next year a week in west Scotland might be a nice trip and a bit more adventurous."  
  
"I take it then that your definition of 'a bit more adventurous' means camping in the middle of the swamp instead of on the edge of it then?"  
  
"And isn't the outdoor fridge a little excessive, putting stuff in buckets of cold water has worked fine for the scouting association for decades. And the first-aid kit, you'd think you were on 'ER' or something. Isn't Aragorn a bit offended, he's the designated first-aider, isn't he."  
  
There was a growl from behind one of the leftover sections of the newspaper.  
  
"Well, he hasn't really embraced 20th century medical advances, has he?" said Frodo, against his better judgement.  
  
The growl from behind the newspaper became more wolverine. "And how many times have I saved your life?"  
  
"Last count 47," said Sam. "48 if you count the time last year when he stopped you from electrocuting yourself on the hairdryer."  
  
"That was only because he tripped on the wire and pulled the plug out."  
  
"That is not the point. The point is that I saved your life and am a perfectly competent first-aider. There's no need for you to go all 'ER' on me."  
  
"If he wis goin' 'ER' on ye he'd be jumpin' up and doon shoutin' CBC! Chem. 7! An' tryin' tae defibrillate ye wi' the landrover's jump leads."  
  
"Save us from those who watch medical dramas and think they know first aid."  
  
Merry, certified 'Peak Practice' addict, and avid watcher of anything with blood, gore, a high body count and nurses' uniforms, objected "But I do know first aid, I usually manage to work out what's wrong wi'em long before t'doctors on 'Casualty' do."  
  
"Yes, but most people old enough tae be allowed tae stay up late enough tae watch 'Casualty' manage that."  
  
The Fellowship adjourned to the garden, where the tent was to be Tested, much in the way that NASA tests its rockets. Frodo had invested in a state of the art tent, more intended for going to the Antarctic than the frozen, barbarous, terrible wastes above Ilkley. It was a self erecting tent, a fact that caused much amusement to certain members of the group. Frodo hurled the tent across the garden, where it put itself up in mid air, and was then caught by a stray breeze, blew over the garden fence and knocked Mrs. Wainthrop (who was definitely pruning the roses and not listening in) into her goldfish pond.  
  
"Oops."  
  
*********************************************  
  
On Tuesday Sam decided that it was a good evening for some gardening and headed out to the shed to find his utility belt. He froze when he heard voices.  
  
"Where's me woggle?"  
  
"Ah dunno, huv ye tried yer trouser poaket, it was there the last time Ah looked."  
  
"Ah, there's me woggle."  
  
"Och no, ma backwoodsmanship's comin' off."  
  
"Give it here and pass me that safety pin."  
  
Sam wasn't sure whether to knock politely or run away very, very quickly. He decided that the geraniums really needed the attention and knocked as inoffensively as possible.  
  
"Ahem," he coughed, hoping that they might not hear him and he could just go away again.  
  
The sight he was greeted with on the inside of the shed was somewhat…peculiar. Merry and Pippin were both fully dressed. Fully dressed in green sweatshirts with badges sewn down the arms (but not very many), green neckties and sensible shoes for doing running about in, or more accurately, sensible shoes for putting the boot in. Sam looked at them in utter horror.  
  
"What are you two doing?"  
  
"What does it look like?"  
  
"I know what it looks like, but I though Gandalf stopped making those kinds of movies years ago."  
  
"We've joined the Scouts."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"They wouldn't let us in the Girl Guides."  
  
"Not that we didn't try…"  
  
"Tell the truth, why have you really joined the Scouts?" Sam looked at Merry and Pippin suspiciously. He had been pretty sure they weren't the type to go scouting for boys either. Neither had they ever seemed like the type to help old ladies cross the road. Help old ladies under a bus, yes, especially if they were in any way like Mrs Wainthrop.  
  
"Ok, we'll tell you the truth. We wanted to see where Aragorn was going on Thursday evenings. We thought he'd either got a fancy woman or joined the Masons."  
  
"We were soooo disappointed."  
  
"So we thought, that looks like fun, why don't we give it a try."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Come on, I know you better than that. Why did you really join the Scouts?"  
  
"We decided that the best way to make Aragorn's life absolute living hell, would be to join the other Scout group."  
  
"The other Scout group…?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You mean the one that takes…girls…?"  
  
"That one, yes."  
  
"But they're only about twelve!"  
  
"That's not why we joined those Scouts, we joined them so that when we go to the joint camp this weekend we can make his life a living hell then."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Good idea isn't it."  
  
"No, it isn't, it's really not nice. What has Aragorn ever done to you? He's given you somewhere to live, fed you, saved you from the militia and that angry mob."  
  
"Yeah, but it's so easy. And it's not like there's much round here to do for fun."  
  
"Yeah, some of us don't want to join the Women's Institute."  
  
Pippin immediately regretted that statement. Sam grabbed him by the woggle and made a very clear threat that the hoe in his other hand could be inserted somewhere rather painful.  
  
"Ok, ok, I take it back about the WI. And about being nasty to Aragorn. We'll stop, but please let us go on the camp this weekend, we've made friends there, and they're looking forward to spending a weekend away with their mates, and they're only kids, you don't want to disappoint them."  
  
Pippin knew exactly how to manipulate Sam. He was more broody than any woman he'd ever met, and couldn't ever bring himself to disappoint children. Sam put him and the hoe down.  
  
"Alright, but on the proviso that you come inside right now and come clean to Aragorn and the others."  
  
The gruesome twosome looked doubtful, but Sam waved the strimmer in their direction and they were persuaded. They trooped inside and presented themselves to the sitting room. Legolas and Frodo burst out laughing.  
  
"But I thought you always went to fancy dress things as the children from that film 'The Village of the Damned'."  
  
Merry and Pippin scowled at the rest of the Fellowship.  
  
"'Snot a fancy dress party. We joined the Scouts."  
  
"No you didn't, I'd have seen you at meetings."  
  
"We joined the other Scout group."  
  
"You mean the…other Scout group." There was a burst of dramatic music. "Gandalf, would you stop watching 'Psycho' when we're trying to have a conversation."  
  
"Yes, yes, the one that takes girls."  
  
There was an appropriate scream from the TV. Everyone glared at Gandalf but he pretended not to notice.  
  
"Can we go now, we have to be there soon and we can't be late because it's Merry's turn to carry in the flag at the beginning of the meeting."  
  
Merry and Pippin left, leaving the rest of the group to assess the damage. Legolas began. "So, Aragorn, you're spending a weekend away… with the Hobbits. And you're going to be sleeping in tents…with the Hobbits. You'll be around many naked flames…with the Hobbits. So have you ever considered taking out medical insurance?"  
  
"Hey, I resent that. You can't put me and Sam in the same pigeon hole as Merry and Pippin."  
  
"No, there'd be a terrible fight if we tried that, you're small, but you wouldn't all fit in the same pigeon hole."  
  
Frodo made a face. He may have been insane, well at least some of the time, but he knew when he was being mocked.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Friday evening came and Aragorn, Frodo and Sam loaded up the landrover. Merry and Pippin, or Dave and Pip, as they were known to the rest of their Scout group were going in the Scouts' minibus to keep up the pretence of having nothing to do with Aragorn, and anyway, there wasn't much room once all of Frodo's stuff was put in the back.  
  
Aragorn had supervised Merry and Pippin's rucksack-packing, but as soon as he'd left the room they emptied them and started again. As a result the collective contents of their rucksacks were as follows:  
  
Item 1: Kendal mintcake. Vast quantities thereof. (Merry and Pippin were not big up on modern camping skills, or any camping skills for that matter, but had seen Kendal mintcake in a lot of camping shops and decided it must have some sort of mystic powers. Pippin had suggested that perhaps like cross-channel swimmers and bacon fat that you were supposed to rub it on to keep warm.)  
  
Item 2: Jelly babies. 23 packets thereof. (For bribery of Bottle, the brains of their little gang.)  
  
Item 3: Sandwiches. Copious amounts thereof, all wrapped in tinfoil and absolutely no egg mayonnaise. (Merry and Pippin had no faith whatsoever in Scout camp cooking, but rather misguided faith in 2-day-old sandwiches. However, since Pippin was involved it was unlikely that the sandwiches would last much longer than the 45-minute bus journey.)  
  
Item 4: Cake.  
  
Item 5: Waterproofs.  
  
Item 6: Clean underwear. One set each. (No use in carrying around unnecessary weight.)  
  
Item 6: Slingshots, ammunition and other assorted small weaponry.  
  
Item 7: Frodo. 1, sleeping. (Packed in error and the result of much hasty unpacking a few minutes later.)  
  
Item 8: Sam. 1, in search of missing Frodo. (Also unpacked, but with more violence.)  
  
Item 9: Streetmap of Bad Würtemburg. (Thought by Merry and Pippin to be a map of the North Yorkshire Moors.)  
  
Item 10: Lemonade bottles. (Current contents 50% vodka, 50% lemonade.)  
  
They had an attitude to packing which would have been thought to be sensible by most Hobbits – they had taken a lot of food – but which the Scouting Association would not have approved of. Strangely, the contents of their rucksacks were rather similar to those of the rest of their Scout group. With the exception of course of Frodo and Sam, who didn't have a rucksack so much as an entire landrover with roof box, but most of those items were probably in there somewhere.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Scene: The blasted campsite. Enter one landrover.  
  
"When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?"  
  
"Frodo, I think you're getting a little overdramatic."  
  
"Fair is foul and foul is fair…"  
  
"Frodo, stop it, you're just showing off now."  
  
Frodo obediently shut up and continued unpacking the landrover. He seemed to have packed everything except the kitchen sink and possibly the sideboard, which in light of his current behaviour was probably going to be a problem.  
  
"Is this a dagger I see before me, the handle toward my hand?"  
  
"No," said Sam, patting him on the shoulder in a friendly way. "It's a groundsheet. You unfold it and you spread it on the ground so your sleeping bag doesn't get wet."  
  
"Art thou but a groundsheet of the mind, a false creation proceeding from the heat oppresséd brain?"  
  
Sam decided this would be really good time to have a conversation with Aragorn regarding what they were going to do with Frodo before the rest of the Scouts turned up in the obligatory coal fired, rubber band driven mini bus to find their skills instructor gibbering up a tree.  
  
"Aragorn, we're going to have to do something."  
  
"I know, he's gone all Macbeth again."  
  
"I thought he'd stopped doing that."  
  
"So did I, but the blasted heath scene must have brought it all back to him."  
  
"What are we going to do about it?"  
  
"There's nothing we can do, except from hiding all the sharp objects and Complete Works of Shakespeare and hope for the best."  
  
Frodo was unpacking the sleeping bags while declaiming "Still it cried 'sleep no more' to all the house; 'Frodo hath murdered sleep; therefore Gondor shall sleep no more.'"  
  
"You did get rid of the dress though didn't you?"  
  
"Yep, I know they didn't allow women on the stage back then, but Frodo can't pass for a decent Lady Macbeth even in pitch darkness."  
  
"That's a little unfair, he was a good as Desdemona. Even Shakespeare liked him as Desdemona."  
  
"Yeah, but Shakespeare just thought that all tragic heroines should be really short. Except for the evil ones like Lady Macbeth."  
  
"Yeah, he thought they should be built like rugby players. Students of literature really miss out on a lot not knowing how warped he actually was, I mean, he wanted Pippin as Ophelia."  
  
"Good thing he ended up too drunk to go on stage, wasn't it."  
  
"But you saw how Merry played her, he was nearly as pissed as Pippin and he didn't know the lines, he just happened to have put on the dress."  
  
"People aren't supposed to collapse on the floor laughing at tragedies. Neither are they supposed to ask for refunds because one of the actors was sick on them."  
  
"And the bit where he staggered back on stage after he was supposed to have died and hugged the guy playing Hamlet and said he was his best mate…"  
  
They were startled out of their nostalgic reverie by what appeared to be the sound of a squad of broken lawnmowers attempting the world land speed record while the drivers tortured cats. There was another sound closely following behind it; that of the grand prix sewing machines Lands End to John O'Groats rally, apparently during an air raid. All this meant that two Scouting Association minibuses were approaching the field, although approaching was a relative term - they didn't come into view for approximately quarter of an hour.  
  
************************************  
  
Back at the house, Legolas and Gimli were enjoying a Hobbit-free environment. There was no shouting, no fighting and the sideboard was once again a safe place in which to store glassware. However something was worrying them.  
  
"Where's Gandalf?"  
  
"Och, I don't know and I don't care."  
  
"Yes, but whenever Gandalf runs away he always leaves at least two windows and the front door open for burglars and takes a few items of value to sell. The front door is shut and the video machine's still here, so therefore, Gandalf is still in the house. Do you really want Gandalf somewhere in the house when you don't know exactly where?"  
  
[Upstairs in the loft Gandalf was wedged between a beam and an old chest of drawers with one arm outstretched. Several weeks ago he had succeeded in finding Aragorn's 'other' secret stash of drink and was taking this opportunity to completely deplete his supplies. A soft keening noise emitted from his lips, the one discernible word in it being 'drink', but it his lament was quiet enough that neither of the other occupants of the house could here it because if they found him, he didn't think he could ever live it down.]  
  
Some time later, Legolas and Gimli had searched the house and found nothing.  
  
"Och, why don't we just give in? He's not anywhere nasty or unexpected and we're fairly sure he's in neither of our bedrooms or the bathroom."  
  
"No, I don't trust him, he might just be moving around to trick us."  
  
"Yes, but there's nothing we can do, we just have to stay on our guard. Pity no one ever invented weapons that glow blue when there's a wizard around."  
  
"Alright then. You go get the Warhammer out of the cupboard and I'll set up the Hammond organ."  
  
Legolas and Gimli loved it when they got the occasional weekend to themselves. They'd never understood why, but for some reason the rest of the Fellowship had this terrible aversion to war games and Hammond organ music. Oh well, it was their loss.  
  
*************************************  
  
When they arrived the Scouts cheerily – or with at least not too much swearing from Merry and Pippin's Scout group – started putting up the tents. The putting up of Scout tents is a mystic art, because they never saw the point of such sensible things as those new fangled dome tents that go up in 10 minutes and are waterproof.  
  
20 minutes later the side of the field with Aragorn Scouts looked like a well drilled army campsite, while the side of the field with Merry and Pippin's Scouts looked like an earthquake in a draper's shop. That is with the exception of Merry and Pippin's tent because while the rest of the Scout group had been putting up their tent, Merry, Pippin, Bottle, Nev, Daz and Spanner had all gone behind the nearest drystone wall for a quick cigarette while the Scoutmasters weren't looking. Merry and Pippin didn't usually smoke – well, not since people had stopped growing pipeweed, they didn't like this new-fangled tobacco stuff, it didn't give you the munchies at all – but this was Scout Camp and certain conventions had to be respected.  
  
A face appeared over the other side of the wall.  
  
"I think smoking's a really bad idea you know. It's really bad for you and it's not big or clever, remember when we had that talk about it last month?"  
  
The owner of the face, and indeed the incredibly piercing voice was Kylie. Every Scout group's worst nightmare, a twelve-year-old feminist, who has joined the Scouts to make a political point and really isn't all that interested in Scouting and wouldn't dare go anywhere near a Guide group because they'd rip her to pieces in five minutes flat.  
  
Five members of the patrol took a long draw on their cigarettes and Bottle sucked really hard on his jelly baby, making a strange slurping noise.  
  
Kylie by this point was incensed. "I'll tell the Scoutmasters."  
  
"Ooh, ooh, Ah'm so frightened ah might just wet maself."  
  
She turned on her heel and walked away. Merry looked thoughtful for a minute, then addressed Bottle.  
  
"Bottle…?"  
  
"Yes Captain?"  
  
"There's another quarter of jelly babies for you if you sabotage Kylie's tent for us."  
  
"Ooh, I like this game! With this quarter of jelly babies I can really impress Molly Nasher."  
  
"Yes Bottle, I'm sure you could. But first, go sabotage the tent."  
  
"How, my captain?"  
  
"Just the usual Kendal mintcake, branch and shoelace job should do it."  
  
"Yes my Captain."  
  
Bottle attempted to sneak off after Kylie as quietly as his boots – bought two sizes too big so he could grow into him – and cardboard knees would allow.  
  
Back on Aragorn's side of the field everything was in perfect order. The tents were up, nearly all of Frodo's luggage had been unloaded and Frodo had been coaxed out of Lady Macbeth mode enough to cook dinner, although he had started the instructions for dinner with the words 'eye of newt and toe of frog', but Sam had taken him for a little walk before he made a second and much more successful attempt.  
  
Since both groups were in theory camping together, Merry and Pippin's group had been forced to abandon their tents for the time being to join in with the first cooking activity, which would count towards a badge if they managed to make something which could be successfully extracted from the bottom of the pot and wasn't actually fatal if eaten. This had also allowed them to join forces with the seventh member of their group, Tony, their heavy. Rumour had it that Tony was really a girl and called Antonia, a rumour backed up by the fact that she wasn't allowed to share a tent with any of the others and had been seen using the ladies toilet on the campsite. However, anyone who voiced such rumours in Tony's earshot were usually knocked into the middle of next week. Merry and Pippin had immediately recognised Tony's potential, as, around the age of 12 or 13, girls tend to be bigger and stronger than boys and very much capable of knocking anyone else in the Scout group into next week.  
  
The meal which Frodo had planned for them to cook was a little different from the usual Scout group cooking, in that it was posh (Sam and Aragorn hadn't been able to prise the spice rack out of Frodo's fingers as they wedged him into the back of the landrover), but also similar because the end result was almost entirely inedible. Well, what Merry and Pippin's group ended up with was inedible (apparently spaghetti carbonara really wasn't supposed to be that colour), Aragorn's group had something that they could eat at least, and Frodo and Sam, who were cooking for all of the Scoutmasters, turned out something worth at least one Michelin star. Not even Pippin could eat what his group cooked, and it wasn't from lack of trying, or at least from lack of Merry's trying.  
  
***************************************  
  
Legolas was in the process of playing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor on the Hammond organ. Why he was attempting to do this is another matter entirely and one which we will not be going into in any great detail. He had long since given up on paying any attention to the comments coming from next door as they were all along the lines of 'shut up with the 'Phantom of the Opera' music'. He had decided that they couldn't possibly be addressed to him because he wasn't playing songs from 'Phantom of the Opera'; all musicals went against the Elvish sensibilities about song.  
  
There was a clatter from the other side of the living room. Gimli had taken out his own personal video collection – which, before you get any ideas is nothing like Gandalf's personal video collection – and was watching his Gene Kelly films and trying to copy the dance routines. He had nearly memorised the one with the chair and the newspaper, but his legs weren't really following the clearly labelled instructions given out by his brain.  
  
Up in the loft soft cries of 'drink! Drink?' could still be heard.  
  
******************************************  
  
"Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here and fill me from the crown to toe top full of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood, stop up th'acess and passage to remorse…"  
  
Sam gently put his hands on Frodo's shoulders and pushed him so that he sat down again. "I don't think that was quite what we had in mind when we said we were going to tell ghost stories."  
  
"Be thou a spirit of health or a goblin damned…?"  
  
"Frodo, just let someone else tell a story."  
  
Kylie however, was trying not to gibber. "I don't see why we have to tell ghost stories. I don't believe them. The dead can't come back, it's a scientific fact."  
  
The members of the Fellowship who were present exchanged looks, and Merry grinned wickedly. "Let me tell you about the Dead Men of Dunharrow…"  
  
*****************************************  
  
Half an hour later Kylie had locked herself in the campsite toilet with two torches and the lights on, saying that if someone would just bring her sleeping bag she'd be fine there for the night.  
  
Pippin was reaching a crisis point. He'd eaten all the sandwiches and the cake on the journey there, and had been deprived of dinner. He'd made repeated, desperate attempts to eat it, but his body had rejected it as 'poisonous, possibly radioactive', and he'd been utterly unable to swallow one bite. He was now shaking with sugar withdrawal symptoms and had lost all power of rational thought.  
  
"Rational, rational, rations, rations, food, food, tapestry, cyclone, special offer, food…"  
  
He went away from the campfire back to their tent, looking for food.  
  
"Celeriac?"  
  
He ransacked the rucksacks, and found a large amount of Kendal Mintcake and jelly babies. He made an experimental attempt to eat the mintcake.  
  
"Revenge!"  
  
This did not go down well.  
  
*****************************************  
  
"Where's Pip gone?" Merry had noticed a lack Scottish swearing at the campfire. They were getting to the alternative words for 'ging gang goollie', and Pippin was a most enthusiastic singer of this.  
  
"Went back to our tent looking for summat to eat." Supplied Daz.  
  
Merry froze. "But, but there's jelly babies in there!"  
  
"Yeah, and?"  
  
"He'll eat the green ones!"  
  
"And?"  
  
But Merry was running at full tilt across the campsite towards his tent. He dived in thgough the door to see Pippin crouched in the corner of the tent, Gollum-like, with empty packets of jelly babies around him. He raised a handful of them to his mouth as Merry leapt towards him.  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" (in approved bodyguard fashion).  
  
Merry hit a tent pole and the whole tent collapsed on them. In the tangled mess of hobbits and canvas a noise started, high pitched and very, very fast.  
  
"yingtongyingtongyingtongyingtongyingtongiddleeyepo…"  
  
This was accompanied by frenzied movement while still wrapped in the tent canvas. Merry had never seen him this bad before, and crawled out of the tent to get help.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Nev, Daz, and Bottle approached Aragorn.  
  
"Scuse me."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"S'your nephew. Said Pip was in trouble."  
  
"What have they done now?"  
  
"Said something about eating jelly babies."  
  
Aragorn seized Nev by the collar. "You let Pippin eat jelly babies? You let PIPPIN EAT JELLY BABIES??"  
  
Nev looked rather taken aback.  
  
"Yeah…"  
  
The other Scout leaders looked in confusion at Aragorn, except for Sam and Frodo who knew what was going on and were looking for some rope. Aragorn sprang into kingship mode. He was not going to tackle a jelly baby enhanced Pippin without backup.  
  
"Scouuuuuuuuuuuuts fall in!"  
  
His scout group materialised, precision drilled, a five-foot tall legion of Gondor. The other scout group looked at them disinterestedly. At this point Merry staggered in, dishevelled, bloodied and missing his woggle.  
  
"Pippin… jelly babies…. Tent… don't go near, too dangerous…" then he collapsed.  
  
Aragorn went into proper, pre-battle Henry V mode. "Scouts. Pip is out there, under the influence of Jelly babies. He is dangerous to himself and others. We will hunt him down… for his own safety of course. Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard favoured rage!"  
  
The scouts looked like they could probably take on the SAS and win.  
  
"Scouts – search pattern beta 4!"  
  
The scouts fanned out and blended into the darkness. Cries of 'YINGTONG' could be heard from various parts of the field, but surely moving too fast for any mortal creature. Then a soft birdcall rang out, repeated across the field. The scouts had found him, and they closed in. They had him cornered by the toilet block (from within which could be heard the sound of Kylie having terrified hysterics). Aragorn appeared carrying a large coil of rope.  
  
"Once more unto the breach dear friends, or we'll stop up the gap with our Scout Association dead!"  
  
This seemed a little extreme, especially since as far as fighting was concerned Aragorn's scout group favoured the battle cry 'today is a good day for someone else to die.' They leapt for Pippin, and due to their warrior and knot tying training managed to totally avoid injury, whilst securing Pippin.  
  
Since no-one seemed to be about to pay him any attention for his Oscar winning performance, Merry staggered back to his tent, , glad to be alive, and so hungry he could eat the Kendal mintcake. However, when he got there a terrible sight awaited him. Spanner, asleep amid the wreckage of his entire supply of Kendal mintcake. Merry gave a desperate prayer to any handy deities that mintcake in such large quantities had no adverse effects for humans. Anyway, this left him but one option. He was going to have to eat Spanner.  
  
Fortunately for Spanner Frodo appeared, muttering something about the milk of human kindness, and handed Merry a double-decker spaghetti carbonara sandwich.  
  
***************************  
  
Legolas and Gimli were investigating the art of construction. To be more accurate they had got the Lego out; not the small scale, easy stuff Merry and Pippin occasionally attempted to construct obscene tableaux out of, but the technical Lego. The stuff that moved and had immensely complex hydraulics and microcomputers involved. The current project was an intelligent At-at walker, and both of them were peering at dismantled parts wondering what had gone wrong since on its first test run in the garden it had attempted to kill Mrs. Wainthrop's cat. The cat was only slightly charred, but what was worrying Legolas and Gimli was the fact that they hadn't built any weapons into the thing.  
  
****************************  
  
Aragorn had gently carried Pippin into the First Aid tent. Then there were a couple of muffled thumps and the gibbering stopped. Then, with due sense of relief he went to bed.  
  
The next morning dawned. The scouts arose, looking much the worse for wear having not slept at all. Pippin was released, with a severe post-jelly baby hangover. Kylie was extricated from the bathroom, by Tony judo kicking the door down and hurling her out. Breakfast occurred, and the campsite was "tidied". Morning activities were commenced, mainly basketwork and macramé. Much to the others' surprise no-one was injured in these activities, and Merry and Pippin were unsuccessful in spelling filthy words in raffia. Lunch occurred. Frodo had been convinced that feeding Merry and Pippin was the best way to avoid genocide, and so had switched to the tried and tested method of 'frying stuff'.  
  
The afternoon activity was canoeing. Unfortunately this had been arranged before Aragorn had known the hobbits were coming along and it was too late to change it. More worryingly, to get up to the full compliment of supervisors both Sam and Frodo had to come along.  
  
"Sam, you're supposed to be supervising!"  
  
"I am."  
  
"Binoculars don't count!"  
  
"There needs to be someone on the bank to go for help when something goes wrong. So I'm not going in the water."  
  
"We're not even asking you to go in the water, just get closer than a hundred yards away!"  
  
Sam was dragged to the edge of the water. The scouts were levered into the open canoes, Merry and Pippin having 'bagsied' going with Tony since she was the strongest, so they would have to do least work. Their canoe began to power downstream at great speed with Tony paddling and Merry, Pippin and Daz making Indian calls and rude gestures at the other canoes.  
  
There were still a few lifejackets left after all the Scouts had got into their canoes, so Sam decided it would probably be a good idea to get his hands on one if he had to be within 10 metres of water. It was tricky stuff, you never knew where you were with water, it could move on it's own if you put it on a slope, you know. Sam was the most regular caller to the National Floodline, because you could never be too careful. Unfortunately, putting the lifejacket over his head put him off his guard for a second and he was unable to fight back when Aragorn grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him into a canoe muttering something about how they needed a third person to balance it out.  
  
Sam found himself midstream in a very old, very battered canoe. He panicked. He screamed and started trying simultaneously to get out and to lie down and hug the bottom of the boat in case he fell over the side. The two other occupants of the canoe, Aragorn and one of the other Scoutmasters turned round to see what all the fuss was about, but this amount of movement proved too much for the canoe. It capsized.  
  
Sam automatically began to panic even more and thrashed his arms and legs around so that all the water splashed up in his face. Then his feet hit something; it was the bottom of the river. A second later Aragorn grabbed him and dragged him out of the water.  
  
From a boat somewhere downstream a thin cry of 'He's fallen in the water' could be heard.  
  
That was it. Sam was cold, wet and humiliated. He was fairly sure that he had heard the other Hobbits laughing at him and they were going to pay for that later. He wanted to go home. Not only that, but he never wanted to have any contact with the Scouting Association ever again.  
  
****************************************  
  
Back in the house Gimli was setting up a rematch of the Battle of Helm's deep with a bookcase, stepladder and a complex set of ramps made out of cardboard for the next Warhammer game, while Legolas, head thrown back, was really getting into the spirit of playing 'A Whiter Shade of Pale'.  
  
Gimli became aware of a presence in the room. He turned round.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
"Sixteen vestal virgins, who were leaving for the coast…"  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
"Might just as well have been closed…"  
  
"Legolas. Aragorn and the Hobbits are home."  
  
Legolas stopped abruptly. Damn all these stupid mortals, he was catching embarrassment from them, but he was an Elf and Elves didn't do embarrassment. He tried again for smug and just about managed to pull it off. It wasn't like anyone else in the house knew how to play the Hammond organ.  
  
"I thought you weren't supposed to be coming back until tomorrow?"  
  
"We weren't, but our plans for the weekend also included us having tents."  
  
"Tents?"  
  
"There was a mysterious accident. They all caught fire while we were canoeing. But luckily for us, Sam and Frodo were around to put the fires out. Shame neither of them actually saw who did it. In a campsite in the middle of nowhere. With no one around for miles except them."  
  
"How could we have been expected to see anything? Sam was getting changed out of his wet clothes after he fell in the water and I was in the quartermaster's tent making him a nice cup of tea."  
  
"Yes, the quartermaster's tent was the only one that didn't catch fire, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it was lucky, wasn't it?"  
  
Aragorn gave up. "However the fire may have started," Aragorn looked meaningfully at Sam, "it has been made very clear that none of us are welcome at any Scouting Association event ever again. We're not even allowed to come within a twenty foot radius of any Scout hut anywhere in the country."  
  
Legolas shrugged. This was his weekend and now that proper Elvish smugness had set in he wasn't going to let the return of Aragorn and the Hobbits prevent him from doing whatever he wanted until Sunday evening. He returned to his Hammond organ with great enthusiasm.  
  
"Um…Legolas?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think Rachmaninov meant that for the piano…"  
  
************************************************  
  
Three days later…  
  
Aragorn had had a long and difficult day at the forestry commission and had come in covered with mud up to his waist, so had sensibly decided to go for a nice relaxing bath. Complete with model boats and submarines. He was trying to re-enact highlights from the Battle of the Atlantic and giving a running commentary in English and German.  
  
"Alaaaaaaaaarm! Wasserbombe!" Aragorn threw a soluble aspirin at his submarine for dramatic effect. "Charges detonated sir. Switch to ASDIC." He began to imitate the noises of early sonar equipment.  
  
"Prepare for second attack."  
  
One floor above, Gandalf was the closest he'd been yet to actually reaching the beer, whilst still to all intents and purposes trapped in the loft. If he just moved his staff like this…and shifted his weight to the edge of the beam like so…  
  
There was a crash. With much speed, but a complete and utter lack of grace Gandalf came through the ceiling and landed next to the bath, beer in hand.  
  
"Scheisskopf!" 


	13. A Bus in the Park

Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous Hammond organ.)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: Much of this takes place in an NHS hospital, which the authors try to avoid for obvious reasons. Much of it couldn't happen for real, but if we've got something glaringly wrong that can be corrected without killing the comedy tell us and we'll change it.  
  
  
  
"Drink!"  
  
"No, Gandalf, that's bleach."  
  
"Drink?"  
  
"Liquid air freshener."  
  
"Drink?"  
  
"Washing powder, I'm trying to do the washing up, go watch some of your videos, that'll take your mind off it."  
  
Gandalf went back to the sitting room. He didn't want videos, he wasn't in the mood for videos, he just wanted a drink. He looked behind the TV, one of the places he knew Aragorn sometimes hid alcohol. There was a half- empty bottle of cherry brandy, which Gandalf sniffed, sipped tentatively, and then poured into Aragorn's ass groove on the sofa. He could try asking Frodo again, but he'd only try to settle him down in his chair with something constructive, or at least non-destructive, to do until someone else came home. There was nothing for it, he was going to have to go to the shops, but first he needed money and there was only one port of call for this – the sofa.  
  
Having acquired enough money (for vadko anyway, so approximately £1.15) Gandalf set off, leaving the front door wide open. Half an hour later Frodo, disturbed by the lack of mumbling, came to check on Gandalf, but reasoned that he would find his own way home eventually and shut the door.  
  
Gandalf eventually made his way to the park, bottle of vadko in hand. He found a bench offering him a good view of the young mothers pushing their children on the swings and adopted the usual mode of 'dirty old man in park'. That was until the vadko began to take effect.  
  
"Balrogs, everywhere. They're watching me. Some of them have even got wings!"  
  
The sparrow was a little disturbed by this accusation and flew off to find someone else to scrounge food from.  
  
************************************  
  
"Hello, 696969."  
  
Frodo had been meaning to have a word with the phone company for a while about this. When everyone else in their street had had their area code changed, they'd mysteriously got a letter telling them the whole number was changing. He had a feeling that Merry and Pippin, possibly in league with Gandalf, had something to do with this.  
  
"Hello, is that Mr Baggins?"  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"I'm calling from the Accident and Emergency department, there's been a gentleman come in and he had a sort of collar round his neck saying that if anything should happen we should contact a Mr Baggins at this number…?"  
  
"Oh dear, has Gandalf been in an accident?"  
  
"Yes, it's probably best if you come in."  
  
"Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr Baggins, but we did everything we could, but Mr Grey didn't make it."  
  
"Oh." Said Frodo very quietly.  
  
"I know this is hard for you, but did Mr Grey have any suicidal tendencies?"  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"Because one of the eyewitnesses said that they saw him leap in front of a speeding double-decker."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Apparently he was waving a branch around and shouting something like 'you cannot pass, I am a servant of the secret fire' and then something about a dark flame, but that finished rather abruptly."  
  
"The bus?"  
  
"Yes, I'm so sorry. Does any of that mean anything to you?"  
  
"Yes, I think so."  
  
"What exactly does it mean?"  
  
Frodo had a sudden realisation that any attempt to explain the balrog incident would just get him committed again, so he gave an explanation as close to the truth as he dared. "He's probably been drinking something. He quite often gets a bit like that when he's been drinking."  
  
The doctor nodded understandingly. "Were you very close to your Grandfather?"  
  
"No, not really." This was roughly true, as no one ever really wanted to stand too close to Gandalf.  
  
"Oh." The Doctor looked slightly confused. "Are there any other family members you'd like us to contact for you?"  
  
"Yes, here." Frodo pulled out his emergency 'I've gone completely barking' personal information sheet with all of the Fellowship's work numbers on it and handed it over.  
  
"Would you like to talk to someone about this?"  
  
"No, it'll be fine, he'll snap out of it soon. He's just doing it to annoy me."  
  
The doctor looked at the contacts sheet again. It also listed a strong enough cocktail of anti-psychotic drugs to knock out a small elephant and the number of a community psychiatric nurse. He should probably phone her first.  
  
  
  
"Hey, Phil, you've got all of Julie's patients from the first half of the alphabet while she's away in Torremelinos, haven't you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's me."  
  
"A and E have got a Frodo Baggins and they want someone to go down there and have a chat."  
  
"Ah. I think the actual phrase I used when I agreed to this was 'I'll take all of Julie's patients in the first half of the alphabet, EXCEPT Frodo Baggins, because I'm only five years away from retirement."  
  
"Well someone's got to go see him."  
  
"Send one of the psychiatrists, because not even the offer of a night out with Diana Rigg'll get me to see him."  
  
  
  
"Dr Brown, can you do a psychiatric consult on one of the patients in A and E?"  
  
Dr Brown guiltily swept his 'Xena: Warrior Princess' action figures into his desk and tried to look professional. "Yeah, what's the name, have you got a history?"  
  
"It's Frodo Baggins and the history…"  
  
"If it's Frodo Baggins I know the history and the answer has suddenly changed to no. I can't do a consultation. Ask one of the consultants, they're paid more than I am."  
  
"Look, someone's got to seem him. All the psychiatric nurses said that too."  
  
"There's a good reason for that and I think I speak for all my staff-grade colleagues when I say 'No way, Jose'."  
  
"Funny, but that's almost exactly what all the nurses said."  
  
  
  
"Can you do a consultation on a patient in A and E, Dr Shaw?"  
  
"What's so important it needs a consultant?"  
  
"It's, um, Frodo Baggins."  
  
"No, no and no."  
  
"But no-one else will go…"  
  
"I consider it one of the privileges of being a consultant that there are other people who I can tell to go and deal with Frodo Baggins."  
  
"What am I supposed do? Tell A and E that the whole department's too scared to see this patient?"  
  
"You could go yourself."  
  
"I'm a secretary, I don't have any medical training."  
  
"This is Frodo Baggins, no one would notice."  
  
"I think that's an unethical statement, so I'll pretend I didn't hear it."  
  
"I know! We'll reclassify the problem. I don't think Mr Baggins needs a psychiatrist, he needs a psychologist."  
  
Five minutes later the secretary came back. "Everyone in psychology's gone to a conference in Birmingham for the day."  
  
"Who told you this?"  
  
"Their secretary."  
  
The consultant walked to his window and looked out across the courtyard. His office was on the third floor on the opposite side from the psychology department, who had their offices on the second floor. "Ah yes, the type of conference which is held behind a filing cabinet in their office with everyone drinking coffee nervously and biting their nails."  
  
"It would appear so. I've never seen an entire department, no, two entire departments, hide from a patient before."  
  
"You're new here aren't you?"  
  
"Used to work in London."  
  
"Ah, so you haven't heard about Mr Baggins yet?"  
  
"No, but I get the feeling I'm going to. This doesn't solve the problem though, someone has to go see him."  
  
"I could threaten to sack one of the staff-grades of they won't see to it…"  
  
"That would probably be even more unethical than sending me."  
  
"Alright then, find everyone you can with psychiatric training and tell them to be in my office in ten minutes. Oh, and find some straws, we're going to do this the old fashioned way."  
  
  
  
Due to the entire Psychiatry department attempting to hide under the sink in the disabled toilet claiming that they were all gynaecologists, or midwives, or breast care specialists, or indeed anything that would definitively exclude Frodo, Sam and Aragorn arrived before the professionals.  
  
A nurse gave them the bad news and asked them to talk to Frodo since he had 'taken it all rather badly – he doesn't seem to understand that Mr. Grey isn't coming back'.  
  
"You could call Julie, that's his psychiatric nurse…"  
  
"Finding any psychiatrist in this hospital at the moment would be nice, they've all disappeared…"  
  
Frodo looked up and smiled as they came in. The other two waited until the door was shut before speaking.  
  
"Umm… Frodo… are you alright?"  
  
"Yes, fine."  
  
Aragorn felt this was a good time to wax wrathful. "Then why the hell did you feel the need to blow our cover? There was no need for you to say that Gandalf is coming back, we all know he's coming back!"  
  
"Oh. Ooops. Sorry."  
  
Frodo was not looking his best. Even with the knowledge that previous attempts to kill Gandalf (cyanide, arsenic and straightforward decapitation) had failed, the news that he had been run over by a bus had been quite a shock, and Sam was a little worried about Frodo, who decided to justify those worries.  
  
"It's all like it was before…. With the thing…"  
  
Sam and Aragorn looked at each other. Sam put his arms round Frodo, partially as a comfort, but mainly to restrain him.  
  
"Come on Frodo, don't think about it, it's your WI meeting tonight, what are you going to do then?"  
  
However, Frodo had just started gibbering quietly. This was somewhat of a relief, since low grade gibbering tended to stay as low grade gibbering. He attempted to burrow into Sam murmuring things about 'horrible eyes'.  
  
  
  
Gandalf was all cold. He wasn't sure why, so he opened his eyes. He was naked and in a very large fridge, one of his stranger awakenings, but not quite as strange as when he woken up on top of St. Paul's cathedral in the seventeenth century to find that the cathedral was in fact on fire. He was on a very uncomfortable tea tray and really wanted to be somewhere else. The word 'pub' flitted through his brain, closely followed by 'drink'.  
  
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is the pathology lab…" the pathologist swept in, trailing medical students in his wake, to be abruptly cut off by a bang from one of the morgue fridges.  
  
"Sounds like something's not quite dead in there!" There were the dutiful giggles made by all students whose lecturer has made a truly pathetic joke, but they know this is the man who marks their tests. Unfortunately this was followed up by Gandalf crashing feet first out of the fridge and landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. Naked Gandalf was bad enough; naked Gandalf back from the dead would make Buffy run for the door. However, the Pathologist made an admirable recovery, and none of the students fainted.  
  
"This WAS the cadaver I was going to show you, but he appears to have recovered. As I am sure from your perusals of the textbooks, you will be aware this would appear to be a unique recovery from brain death. This would be a good moment to move onto the legal liabilities section of pathology, but first I feel we should do something for this gentleman."  
  
Gandalf was uninterested in this conversation, although he was interested in some of the female medical students and he started leering towards them like something out of 'Night of the Living Dead', except with more of a cupping motion. His attention was distracted by the interesting jars of clear liquid on the side. He sniffed one, then drank it.  
  
"Nooooo..." the pathologist was quiet for a moment. "That was formaldehyde. I think that he will be returning to the state of 'cadaver' very soon, so if someone could page the crash team right now…"  
  
One of the students headed to the phone.  
  
"But there's only us here" objected one of the students, "we could just leave him, and all the legal stuff wouldn't happen."  
  
"I take it you slept through the medical ethics lectures?"  
  
"I've paged them sir."  
  
Gandalf was cold, and now bored and not really drunk enough for his liking. And the women had too much in the way of education and too little in the way of bosoms to hold his attention. He headed for the door.  
  
"Follow him! But don't try and stop him, we could make it worse!" the pathologist yelled, deciding this was the point to become the Indiana Jones of the pathology world.  
  
"How can we make it worse? He's legally dead!"  
  
  
  
The entire Psychiatry department was on its way down to A and E. The drawing straws idea had worked, and only one of them was actually going to see Frodo, but since the person who'd drawn the short straw was the chief consultant psychiatrist the rest of the department really, really wanted to watch. This of course included all the cleaners and the secretarial staff. They gathered round the door of the relatives' room, some peering though the cracks in the door, others with stethoscopes pressed to the wall.  
  
"Mr. Baggins. I'm Dr. Shaw, how are you feeling?"  
  
"Eyes. Flames. Eyes. Sees me." All this though was rather muffled, coming via Sam's neck.  
  
Dr Shaw looked at Frodo's copious medical notes (volume one) and wondered what to do. There wasn't really anything they hadn't tried on him, including once, in a fit of bad handwriting, viagra, but he did seem genuinely distressed. And he'd been genuinely distressed when there'd been that incident the last time he'd been sectioned. Dr. Lewis had taken early retirement after that. Best to sedate him before he did anything dangerous. However, given the unpredictable effects that some drugs had on him he'd better stay around, although this was helped by the confident knowledge that half the hospital was listening outside.  
  
About half an hour later the drugs had indeed gone unpredictable. Frodo did occasionally gibber about giant eyes and giant spiders, but he didn't seem to care about this, since he was now deeply in love with everybody. He'd started on Sam, moved over to Aragorn and was now sat on Dr. Shaw's lap, cuddling him and kissing him on the cheek.  
  
"Y're such a nice doctor, I do love you, lovely psychiatrist. Can we take him home please Aragorn?"  
  
Outside the muffled giggling had turned in to outright hilarity, but they were about to regret this lack of self-control.  
  
"More nice people!" Frodo opened the door and proceeded to declare his love for the whole of the psychiatry department, hugging and kissing all of them as well.  
  
At this point Merry and Pippin turned up, complete with Sainsbury's uniforms. Aragorn attempted to explain the situation, more difficult when Frodo's current definition of 'brotherly love' (or even cousinly) involved kissing. With tongues. Merry and Pippin were dying of embarrassment. This though got worse.  
  
"You know I love you. You do don't you, Tinkletoes."  
  
Pippin froze and Merry and Sam started giggling in spite of themselves. One of the nurses couldn't help herself.  
  
"Tinkletoes?"  
  
"Oh yes. When he was little, four, I think he was, he was the pageboy at a wedding and his mother told him to go before it began but he was so excited he couldn't, and then he did. In the middle of the ceremony, all over the bride's train as well."  
  
Pippin was attempting to commit hara-kiri by thought control alone. Here he was surrounded by some very nice people in nurses uniforms and the first thing they were finding out about him was the wedding incident, which in 6,000 years had not been supplanted as 'the most embarrassing moment of my entire life', with a close second being when Merry told the entire court of Gondor about the wedding incident, third being when Merry had told the massed legions of Augustus about the wedding incident, and so on. At least Frodo telling someone was a change.  
  
Fortunately for Pippin's sanity, but unfortunately for his libido Legolas arrived, and the nurses very suddenly found something much more interesting than Pippin's embarrassment. Legolas was given the bad news, then offered no less than 56 cups of tea by different nurses, and 35 separate offers of sexual favours 'to take your mind off things'. The fact that Frodo was attached to his lower leg, claiming to 'love you, lots and lots, nice person' did not seem to dampen their ardour.  
  
  
  
Gandalf was still rampaging around the hospital, acquiring a larger and larger train of people. Each ward he stomped through gathered him more, doctors, nurses, medical students and some more mobile patients (hospital is deadly dull, so naked insane old men definitely come under the heading of 'entertainment'). The crash team was also following him, in case he should decide to go back to being dead, and the crash cart (with defibrillators and other such interesting things in it). The crash cart had also acquired, on its way through a paediatrics ward (now full of traumatised children) a small child, holding on and going 'wheeeeee'. The crowd was too distracted to do anything about this.  
  
The lead doctors were having an argument.  
  
"Look, we have to stop him, he could be doing himself untold damage!"  
  
"No, it'll be worse if we do…" He paused mid sentence to look at his colleague, while still following Gandalf. "Hang about, what would you know, you're an obstetrician!"  
  
"And you're a dental surgeon, so we're quits."  
  
There was a movement in the crowd following them as others tried to elbow their way to the front.  
  
"This should be led by the relevant professionals. Let me through I'm a cardiac surgeon!"  
  
"Why the hell is this a cardiac problem? Look at the way he's acting, definitely a neurosurgeon should be leading this."  
  
The two had elbowed their way to the front of the following pack, with their acolytes (staff grades and medical students) in train behind them, taking sides as appropriate.  
  
"This is most emphatically a cardiac problem. Typical post heart attack behaviour."  
  
"Coming back form the dead is typical? I don't want to know about your clinical excellence record."  
  
"His heart stopped and now it has started again, QED cardiac issue."  
  
"But for something as unusual as this it must be a complex neurological problem. And his brain must have… have…. stopped and re-started again, therefore neurosurgical issue."  
  
A small Brummie voice from the back of the pack piped up. "His kidneys must have stopped and started again as well, so it's a G.U.M issue."  
  
The pack paused and stared at him.  
  
"Sorry." He squeaked. The pursuit began once more.  
  
Gandalf had a crisis at one of the crossroads, the choice of directions seeming to confuse him. This gave the pathologist time to get his way to the front and stake his claim.  
  
"This patient is dead, and I am the pathologist so therefore he's mine."  
  
"I take it all your cadavers are so active?"  
  
"That is not my problem, I have a signed death certificate so he's dead. Mine."  
  
"Who signed the death certificate? Because I don't want to be admitted under them, I'd be down in the morgue like a shot."  
  
The pathologist did not appreciate sarcasm. "I did have look at him you know. Definitely dead, you know no pulse, heartbeat, breathing, brainstem activity, pupil reaction, you know D-E-A-D. Dead."  
  
"He's off again!"  
  
"Come on lads!"  
  
"Neurosurgeons and associated staff first!"  
  
"Come back here, you smug bastards! Come on cardiologists, get yer running shoes on, not all neurosurgeons are Roger bloody Bannister!"  
  
  
  
Legolas was sat with Frodo on his lap to try and calm him down a little (before he did anything that could be construed as sexual harassment), and to give Sam a rest. Legolas was also surrounded by a crowd of female admirers, the male ones having been beaten back forcefully with handbags and much crying of 'he's mine bitch!'. Small scuffles were still breaking out at the back of the crowd, but they were careful not to fight at the front. Might ruin their chances. Legolas was ignoring them. Mortal women were all the same.  
  
Frodo was still gibbering (although it was very affectionate gibbering), so Legolas thought he might take his mind off it with a song.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnn?"  
  
"Would you like me to sing to you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What shall I sing?"  
  
"Could you… could you sing a lament? For Gandalf?"  
  
Legolas had the thought that perhaps 'Ding Dong the Witch is Dead' would be more appropriate, but quashed it. "Are you sure that won't make you worse?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Legolas began to sing, and Frodo curled himself contentedly round him. However, the rest of A and E were reacting badly to the song. The whole place began sobbing, genteelly at first and them moving on to the big, chest heaving stuff, necessitating everyone hugging each other in an attempt to use each others shirts as handkerchiefs. Dogs howled, babies cried. In short, Legolas managed to paralyse an entire hospital department. This is of course, with the exception of the other members of the Fellowship, who were sat in a corner playing poker for Smarties.  
  
It was into this emotional maelstrom that Gimli arrived, having woken up to find the note on the kitchen table ('Gone to hospital, Gandalf probably dead, will get bread whilst I'm out.') He reported to reception, who managed to point him over to Frodo and Legolas in between sobbing all over important medical records. Legolas finished his song. There was a general feeling that something terrible had happened, but they weren't sure what. Gimli offered assistance, but Frodo seemed to have fallen asleep, so he decided to go out into the waiting area for some more quality sleeping where he wouldn't be interrupted by sex crazed nurses.  
  
  
  
Gandalf was striding through the Geriatrics ward when he suddenly stopped, braking fast enough to cause a pile up in the following crowd (now consisting of most of the hospital staff and a large proportion of the patients. Some of the visitors had commandeered wheelchairs and trolleys to push along their loved ones to see what was happening, but due to the lack of such transport it was about three to a wheelchair and seven to a trolley. The sudden braking caused much falling on the floor, and untold damage to post operative scars.) He sniffed the air and looked around himself suspiciously.  
  
"Drink!"  
  
Gandalf moved slowly, triangulating. Then he pounced on a patient's locker, and began to go through the contents. This delay gave the two warring surgeons time to get down to business.  
  
"This isn't even about him, this is about pecking order in this hospital! I've heard the comments in the staff room, 'he isn't exactly a brain surgeon', well cardiac surgery is very challenging…"  
  
"Is it bollocks! I'm working on the brain, we don't even know how half of it works!"  
  
"Exactly! Half trained butchers!"  
  
"Glorified flesh tailor!"  
  
"Lobotomiser!"  
  
"Personality-bypassed, heartless bastard!"  
  
That was it. They both grabbed nearby drip stands (swift check that they weren't attached to any patients) and began to take swings at each other. The others formed a semi-circle round them, egging them on randomly.  
  
Gandalf meanwhile felt that he was nearing the source of drink. His reached again into the cupboard (the occupant of the bed being far too terrified to offer any resistance) and his hand closed around a bottle.  
  
"Drink…" Contentment and anticipation oozed out of him. He withdrew his hand from the cupboard to find it was… a bottle of cherry brandy.  
  
"Drink! Nononononononononononononononoooooooooooooo! DRINK!"  
  
The two surgeons, who were attempting to be Russell Crowe but ending up more like Benny Hill, temporarily forgot their fight and looked at Gandalf who set off again. They did not stop the fight as they followed him, taking wild swings at each other, while the following herd kept a safe distance.  
  
  
  
Gandalf burst through the doors of A and E, like a vengeful (naked, smelly) god, followed by most of the hospital.  
  
"Drink!"  
  
Frodo, who had been nice and warm and felt safe curled up on Legolas' lap, woke up, and did not look… right. The psychiatry department took a collective step backwards and tried to look for somewhere to hide, or just someone to put between them and him. He stood up.  
  
"What is going on?"  
  
Gandalf paused. This was a person he recognised, and not only that it was a person who on previous occasion had provided him with drink. A nice person. Perhaps everything would be all right now?  
  
"Frodo??"  
  
"Gandalf!" Frodo turned to the psychiatrists. "See, I told you he wasn't dead." The psychiatrists looked like they would believe just about anything right now, as long as Frodo didn't try anything.  
  
Frodo went into organisational, WI efficiency mode. "Could someone please find some clothes for Gandalf? Those patients look like they should be in bed, shouldn't someone be seeing to that? And you two, stop acting like children and grow up! Put the drip stands down!" He went over and forcibly disarmed them. "How did all this start?"  
  
"He started it…"  
  
"I am not interested in who started it, I want to know why you are behaving like this."  
  
"He thinks he's better surgeon."  
  
"Am too."  
  
"Are not."  
  
"STOP IT! I am sure you are both very good surgeons, otherwise the hospital wouldn't employ you would it? Does it really matter who's best?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"NO IT DOESN'T! Now you can either go back to your departments and be good surgeons, or you can stand here arguing and you'll both be bad surgeons, understood?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Now you are both going to apologise to each other, NICELY, then you are going to go back to work, alright?"  
  
The two grudgingly apologised and slunk off. Frodo would have re-organised the entire hospital (quite probably to the benefit of the NHS, but never mind) there and then if Legolas hadn't intervened.  
  
"I think we should take Gandalf home."  
  
"But they've signed the death certificate, he doesn't legally exist."  
  
"Oh, I think a threat of a medical malpractice suit against them and they'll make him exist. If we threaten them enough I'm sure they can even find some computer hacker to wipe his criminal record. Come on, let's take the poker school and the streaker home."  
  
The other members of the Fellowship were extracted from the Poker game (Merry currently owed Pippin Nestlé's entire European Smartie production for the next three years) and piled into Aragorn's landrover to go home.  
  
"You know, I get the feeling we forgot something…"  
  
"Oh, lets just go home."  
  
  
  
The next morning the general admissions ward was having problems with an argumentative patient in a helmet.  
  
"Look, Mr. Goodson, we have not removed your tonsils!"  
  
"Och, you have. I didnae even want to be admitted I just fell asleep in the waiting room in A and E, and you admit me and take my tonsils!"  
  
"You were admitted for observation because you were found in A and E unconscious and every effort was made to wake you up and you did not."  
  
"I said I was asleep. That's normal when I'm tired. That's no reason to go and take out my tonsils and sell them to the Triads!"  
  
"We have not sold your tonsils. We have not removed your tonsils. Your tonsil status now is exactly the same as when you came in. And what do you think the Triads would want with tonsils anyway?"  
  
"Ah've heard all about it, organ trafficking!"  
  
"Of useful organs yes. Tonsils no. And the NHS has nothing to do with that sort of thing."  
  
"Why should Ah believe you? You work for them!"  
  
"Yes, because on this nurse's uniform there can quite clearly be seen Triad and other Mafia logos." It had been a long night.  
  
"All I know is I came in last night with tonsils and they're not there now."  
  
The nurse sighed. She would call a psychiatrist, but for some reason all of them had called in sick… 


	14. Flight to the Ford Fiesta

Double apology: Sorry this is so late, we've had rampaging essay deadlines. Sorry its not one of our best, our muses have gone off on a bender to Torremolinos.  
  
Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. Legolas drives exactly like Random Dent (worry not, she hasn't passed her test. And probably never will.) Bridget Jones bits indebted.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous ingestion of various household objects..)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes:  
  
Episode 12: Flight to the Ford Fiesta.  
  
Frodo was sat on the sundial in the front garden, peacefully reading this week's copy of 'Good Housekeeping' when Legolas arrived back home.  
  
"Frodo… What are you doing out here? It's freezing. And what's that smell?"  
  
"I know its freezing. Its Gandalf."  
  
Legolas narrowed his eyes. "Would this be why I can smell swimming pools? Has he been trying to turn Mrs Wainthrop's goldfish pond into a hot tub again?"  
  
"No, the restraining order's still in place. He drank the bleach and then the toilet duck, and then all this green gas started coming out of his nose, so I ran out here."  
  
"Does he not know that when you mix toilet duck and bleach you get chlorine gas?"  
  
"Perhaps he was hoping his stomach acid would neutralise the bleach…"  
  
"Would it be too much to hope that he is dead?"  
  
"Again? No, I heard him swearing at the telly. Can you do something about it? It sinks, I'm too short to make it to the windows before I start choking."  
  
Legolas sighed, and wrapped his scarf around his face and strode into the house.  
  
***** ***  
  
This was another final straw for Legolas. Putting Gandalf in a home had failed, and so now it was time to try Plan C (Plan B, faking his own death, moving to Bulgaria and setting up a tinned porridge factory, had been rejected as impractical). Legolas felt that it was time for his announcement at dinner, at least partially because two of the hobbits would be far too busy eating to make any witty comebacks. Pudding was chosen as the ideal course to announce things during, since today was jam roly-poly day, and Merry and Pippin could be relied on to eat so much that they were incapable of speech or movement for about 2 hours afterwards.  
  
"I think you should know. I'm going to start having driving lessons."  
  
Merry and Pippin had come to the end of their portions (the portion size described by the UN as 'would feed one reasonable sized famine-struck village for about a month, as long as they didn't mind all that cholesterol at once') and paused in the middle of licking the last of the custard out of their bowls. Pippin had a strained expression, indicating that he was attempting to make some kind of filthy comment about driving lessons, but was simply too full of suet to make the vocal chords move. Either that or his tongue was stuck to the plate again.  
  
Aragorn looked surprised. "I thought that you said cars would never catch on. That they were a danger to all life on earth, and a hazard to the environment."  
  
"That doesn't stop him accepting lifts from you though." Frodo attempted to look angelic, and failed.  
  
"I still do not like cars. Trains, trains are different. A much more genteel way to travel. Like 'Brief Encounter'."  
  
"Especially when you're pushing the trolley up and down asking people whether they'd like tea or coffee."  
  
"And even more so when you've been stood on Huddersfield station for two hours waiting for a train that they then cancel, and when the train breaks down, and…"  
  
"Yes, yes, just shut up. I'm learning to drive to get a little more independent. That is all." He mentally added 'so I can get away from you lot whenever I like without worrying that 'the wrong kind of snow' has shut down the entire rail network again.'  
  
It was Merry's turn to try and say something. Again the power of such a vast amount of suet was too much to allow speech, but Merry's efforts succeeded in making him fall off his chair. He waved his arms and legs a bit, but was too full to stand up again. The rest of the Fellowship took one look at a tall, well built hobbit completely stuffed with jam roly- poly, decided that they liked not having lower back problems and left him on the floor.  
  
***** ********  
  
"Good afternoon Mr. Green. This is your first driving lesson, yes?"  
  
"Yes, it is." Legolas smiled manically.  
  
"Well, I'm just driving you to a nice quiet bit of housing estate where you can get used to the feel of the car, alright?"  
  
Legolas nodded just a little too eagerly.  
  
"Are you sure you're OK with this? No-one's forcing you to take these lessons…"  
  
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, really, I want to learn to drive. I'm j-just a little nervous."  
  
They parked, and got out of the car.  
  
"Now before I let you get in the driving seat I need to check your eyesight. Could you read that number plate over there."  
  
"The red one?"  
  
"No, that's about a quarter of a mile away, Mr. Green, we're not that strict. The green Punto please."  
  
"P648 GKF, Hendersons Fiat Dealership, Weatherby."  
  
The instructor looked at him dubiously, walked over to the car and then walked back again. "Yeeees, well, I don't think your eyesight is going to be a problem. If you could get into the drivers side please?"  
  
Legolas had some problems climbing into the driver's seat, since the instructor was quite a bit smaller than him. He managed to lever himself in, and then pushed the seat back to its greatest extent. The instructor told him where the seat should be for the proper driving position, but the seat wouldn't go that far back, so Legolas ended up with his knees brushing the steering wheel, but this wasn't an issue since he immediately hunched in terror over the wheel, gripped it with white knuckles and stared straight ahead.  
  
"Turn the ignition, not for too long, now if we could try putting the car into gear. Right, just push the clutch pedal down. Push the gear lever into the first position. Apply a little pressure to the accelerator. As you gently raise up the clutch you'll feel the car begin to move."  
  
Legolas felt the car move beneath him, panicked, took his foot off the clutch and both hands off the steering wheel and curled into the crash position while still remaining seat belted into his seat.  
  
"Witchcraft!"  
  
The instructor knew this was going to be one of his more difficult cases.  
  
****** *******  
  
"Hi Legolas, had a good driving lesson?"  
  
Legolas was staring fixedly straight ahead, muttering stopping distances under his breath (none of them for anything travelling faster than 20 miles per hour). He didn't seem to notice Frodo and walked into the lounge, still staring straight ahead.  
  
"I'll take that for a no then…"  
  
Merry wandered past looking despondent. Frodo did what any right thinking Englishman would do the circumstances. He went off to make some tea.  
  
A few minutes later he entered the sitting room carrying a pot of Darjeeling, which he administered in much the same way as MASH surgeons administered morphine to injured soldiers. Well, not quite, not actually intravenously, although that probably would have been a lot more helpful. Sam was sat on the end of the sofa, looking helpless and trying desperately to think of something that needed doing in the garden. Insane Frodo he could deal with, but insane Legolas was causing him serious conceptual problems. Legolas was remaining uncommunicative, still muttering and staring, but Merry wanted to get this off his chest.  
  
"He's gone all secretive."  
  
"Who has?"  
  
"Pippin. Going off places on his own. Not telling me anything. It's like with Nell Gwyn all over again."  
  
"Mavis Enderby?"  
  
"It's got to be. It's not like she's acting any different or anything, but that's the only reason he could be sneaking about. He'll be banging her in the store cupboard. It should be me in there!" He wailed.  
  
Frodo patted him on the shoulder, but Legolas' mental state was a more pressing worry. Fortunately Aragorn arrived to provide a somewhat bigger shoulder to cry on. So Frodo attempted to get Legolas at least to talk about it.  
  
"Legolas… Is there something bothering you?"  
  
"C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c" Legolas appeared to be stuck.  
  
"Cat? Catechism? Constantinople? Cornucopia?" Frodo guessed wildly, but Legolas shook his head. "Crumpet? Koala?" Aragorn and Merry looked at Frodo. "Sorry, got carried away."  
  
"C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-CAR!"  
  
"DRINK!" This caused a sympathetic reaction in Gandalf, but they ignored him.  
  
"I hate driving. I hate it. It's, it's a thing, not quite living and not quite dead."  
  
Gandalf looked offended. "Do you mind?"  
  
The Fellowship looked at him somewhat surprisedly. Obviously they were at the beginning of one of his more lucid phases, possibly all that chlorine had fumigated his brain.  
  
"Sorry. But, it can go so fast, with so little control, it wants to go fast I tell you, it has the power of darkness behind it!"  
  
There was a noise from the driveway. The Fellowship went to investigate it. Pippin was stood in the driveway, next to a moped, in full, very small biker leathers. He was beaming with pride.  
  
"Ah've passed mah test as weel." He said as if to explain it all.  
  
"So that's where you've been?" Merry was still a little suspicious.  
  
"Ah didnae want tae tell youse in case Ah didnae pass. But now Ah have, and Ah've got the bike. Oh, and this." He tossed a spare helmet over to Merry. The rift between them was instantly healed.  
  
"Canwegooutonthebike, canwegooutonthebike?"  
  
Merry ran for the moped, dragging Pippin behind him. Knowing that it would be some time before they came back the other members of the Fellowship went into 'bitching mode'.  
  
"This is going to be like the business with the Sinclair C5 again, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, the Police were very understanding about it and the coach company agreed not to sue after we got Gandalf to have a word with them."  
  
"But the driver wasn't exactly happy about it."  
  
"We did get rid of it last time we moved, didn't we?"  
  
"Yes. That and his cheese press."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Aragorn…" Sam tried to alternate between looking at his feet and looking innocently at Aragorn while shuffling slightly on the spot.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, you know how Pippin's a moped…Can I have a sit on motor mower? I'll pay for it myself and everything and I promise it won't get in the way."  
  
"Haven't you got one at work?"  
  
"Yeah, but it's not the same and anyway, there isn't that much grass and I can't quite reach the pedals without attaching things to my shoes."  
  
"But there's even less grass here, you said you wanted to completely change the garden a few months ago and covered half of it with decking. The mower would probably be bigger than the lawn."  
  
"It's not fair! You let Pippin do whatever he likes, just because he's really violent."  
  
"I didn't let Pippin get a moped, he just went and got one."  
  
"You haven't said he has to take it back."  
  
"He's a grown up now, at least on paper anyway and he's using moped on public roads, not our garden, so whatever chaos he causes isn't my problem."  
  
"Legolas would let me have a motor mower, wouldn't you, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas went pale at the mention of the word 'mower' and backed away. "Ask Aragorn."  
  
****** ******  
  
"Hello, 696969." Frodo really was going to have to write to the phone company.  
  
"Hello, is that Mr Green's house?"  
  
"Yes, but he's out at his –"  
  
"I know he's out at his driving lesson, I'm his instructor. He's a little upset and refusing to get back into the car."  
  
"What do you mean 'a little upset'?"  
  
"Alright, he's trying to talk to the car, I just thought it might be better if someone he knows walks him home."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"We're out near the park, with the driving school's logo on the roof of the car, but I think you'll probably notice Mr Green first."  
  
****** *****  
  
About fifteen minutes later Frodo found the driving instructor, who was leaning against the back of the car, smoking and generally watching the world go by.  
  
"Um, are you the one who phoned me about Mr Green?"  
  
"Yes, he's round the other side of the car."  
  
"Thank you. Is he alright?"  
  
"See for yourself."  
  
Legolas was crouching beside the car with one ear pressed against it, whispering softly to the headlight.  
  
"Legolas… Are you alright?"  
  
"Squirrel."  
  
"What about a squirrel."  
  
"I nearly killed it."  
  
"Yes, but you didn't, did you?"  
  
"Don't know, check the tyres on the other side for bloodstains."  
  
 Frodo pretended to look. "No, it got away. There's nothing to worry about, really."  
  
"Yes there is."  
  
"What is there to worry about?"  
  
"The cars, they're too dangerous. People shouldn't be allowed to drive them. Especially not me."  
  
"Do you want to go home?" Legolas hesitated. "We can take the footpath."  
  
"Ok."  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You have to let go of the car, first."  
  
Legolas reluctantly let go of the car and grabbed hold of Frodo.  
  
********* *********  
  
 "Did you really have to embarrass me like that?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Carrying me all the way home. You made it look like it was me who was having… an incident."  
  
"You don't usually mind when people have to carry you."  
  
Frodo blushed and looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, but not in public, and anyway, I'm not usually in any state to notice."  
  
****** ******  
  
"Merry, d'ye want a lift home?" Pippin held out the spare helmet and looked at Merry pleadingly.  
  
"Umm, no, I'm going to take the bus. Wait, I've got an idea, we don't enough things together these days, so lets both take the bus!"  
  
"But we could be home in less than half the time on the moped."  
  
Merry paled. This was the problem. It wasn't that Pippin was a bad driver - he was quite good when it came it to avoiding oncoming lorries when speeding down the wrong lane of traffic - he was just a little shaky on the Highway Code. Drive on the left seemed to be a concept which had bypassed him, but drive wherever there was less traffic, be it on the right, left, middle, pavement or shopping precinct was the accepted way of doing things and those red, orange and green lights on sticks must be leftover Christmas decorations.  
  
"Yes, but you miss all the scenery on the moped."  
  
"You mean the canal, the derelict factory, the three housing estates and the railway line?"  
  
"Yes, urban scenery and I've developed an interest in industrial archaeology."  
  
"You don't trust me on the bike, do you?"  
  
"No, no, of course I trust you on the bike. I trust you implicitly, it's just…are you sure you passed your test?"  
  
"You don't trust me, do you? Fine! You can get the bus home today. And every other day as well." Pippin stormed off towards his bike and revved it up as menacingly as you can with a motor that had previously been used in a lawnmower.  
  
Merry stormed off, practising looking 13 to get half fare on the bus.  
  
********* ********  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's your driving instructor on the phone."  
  
Legolas gave a high-pitched squeak not unlike that of a newborn kitten and beautifully conditioned by life with the fellowship dived into the sideboard. Frodo excused himself to the driving instructor and put the phone on mute.  
  
"Did you hide in the side board at the Battle of Helm's Deep?"  
  
"Sideboards weren't invented."  
  
"Did you hide in a cupboard, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And did you hide in the battle of Gaugamela?"  
  
"No, we were in the middle of an arid plain, do you think there were just cupboards hanging about the place?"  
  
"That's not the point. What I'm trying to say is that you're not a coward."  
  
"I hid in the cupboard at the battle of Trafalgar."  
  
"You got locked in to a storeroom by accident."  
  
"Yeah, accident. Bloody Hardy always trying steal the limelight with Nelson. It should have been 'kiss me Legolas', not 'kiss me Hardy'."  
  
Frodo decided that this was not the point and didn't ask why Legolas wanted to be snogged by dying lord admirals, but made a mental note for future reference.  
  
"Fine. Do you want to talk to your driving instructor or do you want me to tell him you're a cissy?"  
  
"Are you calling me a cissy?"  
  
"Are you wearing pigtails? I'm calling you a cissy."  
  
"I was nervous."  
  
Frodo attempted to raise one eyebrow, but failed and just ended up looking stupid. "Are you talking to him or not?"  
  
****** *****  
  
Legolas' Diary:  
  
Driving Lessons: 1 (v bad)  
  
Giant sized toblerones: 3 (v v bad)  
  
Cigarettes: 0.1 (bad idea, not cut out to be smoker)  
  
Offers of sexual favours: 1/2 (don't know if woman in post office was serious)  
  
Frodo sent me for driving lesson. All bad and horrible. All other drivers' faults. Got stuck going round roundabout 27 times. Driving instructor sick, not allowed to go back. Was followed round by 4 blokes in souped up nova with spoiler pissing themselves laughing. Others think I can't hear them talking about how too many toblerones will make me fat. Don't care, they're all fat anyway (Aragorn claims it's muscle, but yet to see six pack in shape of mini-beer gut). Hate life, hate Fellowship, all Sauron's fault. No Sauron – would be living with Elves. On same note two most obnoxious Hobbits seem to have fallen out, can only be a good thing.  
  
******* *******  
  
Pippin's Diary  
  
Number of mopeds owned: 1; v v happy, but could be better (harleyharleyharleyharley)  
  
Number of times hit round head by Mavis: 3 (last one with catering tin of beans – count as 2?)  
  
Number of days since last shag: too depressing to count.  
  
'Enormous Bosoms Monthly' late again, deeply depressed. Merry not talking to me, also depressed. Got stopped by Polis, very, very depressed. Aragorn, Legolas and Merry sold moped and burnt self's driving licence, suicidal.  
  
******* ********  
  
"Listen to that."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Silence."  
  
"That's only because Gandalf forgot to take the tv off mute before he ate the batteries in the remote control."  
  
"Why'd he eat the remote control batteries?"  
  
"Dunno, cheap thrills, I think he's getting immune to alcohol."  
  
"He's getting pissed on ammonium chloride?"  
  
"He's not human, remember."  
  
"He's also not deaf. And what he does with his own free time is his own business." Gandalf hiccupped. "Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards."  
  
"That's your answer for everything, isn't it? Why are you attempting to sell our video? 'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards'. Why is Joanna Lumley tied up in the cupboard under the stairs? 'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards'."  
  
Gandalf pointedly ignored Aragorn's comment.  
  
If Legolas had lacked dignity, he would have sat in the middle of the floor doing the opposite of Toad of Toad Hall, ie, making steam train noises. But since he did have dignity he was sitting on the sofa looking very smug about having been blacklisted by every driving school in the country and would never have to sit behind the wheel of a car again. He took another bite out of his giant toblerone (it wasn't an addiction, really, he could stop any time he wanted).  
  
Pippin was also trying to take bites out of Legolas' giant toblerone, but kept being swatted away. He was not happy. Merry was talking to him again, but he didn't have a moped. Possibly these two facts were connected. However, given his current listing on the local, and indeed the national police's 'stop this person if they attempt to drive anything, even a steamroller' list, he didn't think he was going to be getting the moped back any time soon.  
  
**** ****  
  
"I think we should let him out now. It's terribly cruel keeping him locked up like that."  
  
"Yes, yes, let me out! I don't need any more toblerone, I'm cured."  
  
"No, it's not out of his system yet, you can still hear the tremor in his voice. Better give him another few days."  
  
"Nooooooooooo!"  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  


	15. Many Meetings

Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. 'Tally ho, pip pip' etc belongs to Balckadder goes Forth; Spanish Inquisition belongs to Monty Python and/or the Catholic church. We don't own Benny Hill, The Dambusters, Lego (well actually we own quite a lot of Lego, but that's not the point), Dr. Who, Abba, Gladiator, Isambard Kingdom Brunel or the Clifton Suspension Bridge.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous bad puns.)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: If you have the music to 'Benny Hill' or 'The Dambusters', go and dig them out now. You'll need them. Everyone else look for a kazoo or hum.  
  
Bagenders Episode 13; Many Meetings.  
  
"Tea? Coffee?" Legolas had managed to get himself 'promoted' to serving in First Class, being a lackey to all the people who for no good reason felt that spending more than £100 on a train ticket was a good idea, although there seemed to have been rather more of them since Legolas had become the lackey. He had actually been asleep for the last half an hour, having developed the elven ability to keep walking while asleep into an ability to offer and serve tea and coffee safely (and this had been the bit that had required a lot of practice at home – after the first time Aragorn had insisted he practiced with cold water). Occasionally he had served the wrong one, but this was British railway hot drinks, it wasn't like anyone was going to notice.  
  
"Could I have a mineral water please?"  
  
"Of course sir."  
  
Legolas began to walk away. He hadn't actually woken up, so whether they were going to get their mineral water was in doubt, until they said something to actually make him bother waking up.  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
Legolas didn't usually use his real name at work, so hearing it came as a bit of a shock – he didn't think he knew anyone who travelled first class. He woke up and attempted to focus on the speaker, but immediately wished he hadn't.  
  
"Galadriel…Elrond…Haldir…Glorfindel…How nice to see you." Legolas turned on the fake smile usually only reserved for when they had a special offer on for pensioners' APEX tickets.  
  
"How nice to see you too, Legolas, or should I say," Elrond squinted at the name badge, "Lars."  
  
Legolas used all his self-control to stop himself from reacting. He had needed to find a name that sounded similar to his own, or at least began with the same letter and had made the mistake of accepting Pippin's suggestion. Now everyone he knew at work was convinced that he was Swedish to his face, and behind his back that he was a resting porn actor. Unfortunately, due to his Elvin hearing he knew this.  
  
"It's good to see that you're making your own way in the world."  
  
"Yes, he's certainly going a long way," said Haldir in a voice just on the edge of normal hearing.  
  
Legolas thought it was a great pity that he was only carrying one pot each of tea and coffee so could only give two of the four of them nasty painful burns.  
  
"I thought you would be more interested in things other than the shallow, materialistic aspects of life, like money. I'm still very much in touch with my inner elf."  
  
"Yes, and well done, it's not easy when you don't have 62 acres of landscaped gardens to get back to nature in, oh and I'm replanting a forest at my highland estate." Elrond smiled smugly and Legolas wanted to punch him. He could have mentioned how well Sam kept the garden at their house, but this would mean admitting he lived with the rest of the Fellowship so he kept his mouth shut.  
  
Galadriel attempted to bring the conversation back up to a more genteel level. "So how are the others?"  
  
"Others?"  
  
"The rest of the Fellowship, you are still living with them, aren't you? It's so nice that you've all stuck together. Celeborn told me all about it"  
  
Legolas thought some very un-Elvish words. He made a mental note to be really supportive to Aragorn next time he had to phone Arwen for an argument.  
  
"Celeborn? I though you'd…"  
  
"We have, it's just that he rang me a few weeks back, he's in jail in Ulan Bator and wanted me to get him a lawyer." Galadriel smiled ethereally. "So, how are they all?"  
  
"Oh, um…" Legolas was saved from having to answer this question by his supervisor.  
  
"Come on, lots of other customers on the train, can't have you spending too much time with these ones."  
  
"You'd better get back to work then, but take my business card and if I could have your phone number…?"  
  
Legolas was forced to go through the humiliation of having to repeat the Fellowship's phone number in a public place. Haldir sniggered.  
  
************************* ************************ ******************  
  
As Legolas was walking home from work that evening he heard a strange noise, it seemed to have been following him for about two streets and getting progressively louder. A shadow and a threat had been growing in his mind, but Balrogs were extinct and orcs were pretty endangered these days, weren't they?  
  
As he was nearing the house, the beast overtook him, a great enormous green thing with glowing eyes and hunched figure at the controls which seemed to be in an even worse mood than the beast itself.  
  
"Come on, come on, you stupid machine."  
  
There was a reason why Legolas didn't drive, in fact, there were many of them, cars being the main one. "Having problems, Aragorn?" Legolas jogged along to keep up with him.  
  
Aragorn growled and put his foot down, almost forcing Legolas to break into a run, but not quite. The landrover lurched forward and then stopped about five feet from the end of the drive.  
  
"Sod it!" Aragorn got out, slammed the door, kicked the wheel in the approved fashion (ignoring the pain this caused on account of being a butch man in a bad mood) and stormed into the house.  
  
"Who. Is. Doing things. To my. Landrover?" Said Aragorn as he strode into the house.  
  
"Ah could fix it for you," offered Pippin. "Ah know aboot things like that." Pippin attempted to sneak out of the room with Sam's toolbox.  
  
"Yes, we know you know about things like that. And so do the RAF. And so do all the other NATO countries who were pissing themselves laughing when they heard about this."  
  
"It wisnae ma fault, Ah didnae know ah wis haulding the manual upside doon. Hobbit error, that sort of thing happens all the time."  
  
"It does whenever you're involved."  
  
"When was Pippin in the RAF?" Asked Frodo.  
  
"It was just for a few months after they saw Top Gun."  
  
"Really, I thought they'd gone to Lanzarote." Said Sam  
  
"No, him and Merry joined the RAF, they just told everyone they'd gone to Lanzarote because they knew you'd make, you know, suggestions."  
  
"Oh, right. Yeah, we would have made suggestions."  
  
"But getting back to the point, making a 'Hobbit error' would have been stopping the planes from being able to take off. What you did was wire them up so that whenever anyone tried to make a steeply banked left turn in them, the ejector seats activated. That takes a special kind of skill, you know."  
  
"A little bit of water doesnae hurt anybody."  
  
"Yes, but the North Sea can be pretty dangerous in January."  
  
"Nobody died."  
  
"Some of them came out with fewer fingers and toes than they went in."  
  
"Nobody died."  
  
"They did try to kill you afterwards."  
  
"Nobody died."  
  
"Wait a minute, how did you two get into the RAF, you're at least a foot under their minimum height limit."  
  
Merry and Pippin looked shifty, but no answer was forthcoming.  
  
********************** **************************** ****************  
  
Later that evening, Gimli decided to have another go with the robotic lego. He'd seen programmes about artificial intelligence and it didn't seem all that hard. He was pretty sure he'd got it right this time and had deprogrammed the 'kill all felines' part and had definitely double-checked that there were absolutely no weapons on board. He put it down on the ground and waited for it to get its bearings.  
  
After waiting for a few minutes he leaned down, flicked the 'on' switch and tried again. The miniature AT-AT walker started whirring and clicking to itself in a slightly menacing fashion.  
  
TARGET: humanoid, creator, friend. Gimli, beardie-weirdie. If dies, no more repairs.  
  
TARGET: Feline. Be nice to felines. ERROR! Kill all felines! ERROR 7296: lack weaponry to kill felines. Reconfigure main hydraulics system into primitive laser weaponry. Now kill felines.  
  
Fortunately for Mrs Wainthrop's cat, it moved over to the other side of the garden to stalk a thing in the bushes and the sighting of the target was lost. Gimli looked at the AT-AT walker critically. While it had been reconfiguring all of its internal mechanisms, it had given the appearance of just sitting there and being broken. Gimli picked it up and took it back inside, looking for the instruction manual.  
  
*************************** ************************* **************  
  
"Hello, 696969." How many more times today was Legolas going to have to admit to his phone number?  
  
"Hello, Legolas?" There was some sniggering in the background, from which the word 'Lars' could be heard quite clearly.  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"Hello, it's Galadriel. I was just thinking how it's a shame that we never see each other these days, and Elrond suggested that we should invite you to this little party he's having two weeks on Saturday."  
  
"Elrond's having a 'little' party."  
  
"Well, it's a grand fancy dress ball in honour of his two centuries of divorced freedom. Oh and you should ask the rest of the Fellowship to come along, I would so like to see Gandalf again."  
  
Legolas sighed, this was going to be a long explanation.  
  
*********************** ************************** ***************  
  
"We've been invited to what?"  
  
"A party at Elrond's place, Galadriel invited us and she's sending us all invitations through the post."  
  
Gandalf's eyes lit up. "Galadriel's having a party?"  
  
"No, Elrond is."  
  
"Buggeration. Don't think I'll bother then."  
  
"There's going to be free alcohol…"  
  
"I shall, wizards are entitled to change their minds frequently. And there's got to be someone with a bit of decorum."  
  
Sam was looking uneasy. "She wouldn't be having any…you know, magic mirrors around the place these days?"  
  
"No, I asked about that. A few years ago Haldir and Glorfindel came in at 3am, decided they needed a curry and levered it off its stand to use it as a balti pan. Apparently vindaloo and magic don't go. She tried putting it in the garden as a bird bath after that, but for some strange reason, none of the birds will go near it."  
  
Sam was reassured, but Aragorn was still a little concerned. "What type of party is it going to be? The last time I went to one of her parties it was a toga party and that'd be great…"  
  
"Aragorn, the last time you went to one of Gladriels parties it was under the Emperor Hadrian, so it wasn't so much a toga party as a 'come as you are'."  
  
Aragorn looked sulky. "It was fun though…"  
  
"Anyway, this is a fancy dress ball. It's going to be a genteel occasion, so I want everyone to have their costumes sorted out by Saturday so we can refine them. Or, if necessary, vet them. And before you ask, Pippin, you can't go as Adam again. Fancy Dress implies you have to get dressed."  
  
"Ah could find a fig leaf this time…"  
  
"NO!" The Fellowship were agreed on one point at least.  
  
  
  
******************************** ***********************************  
  
  
  
Saturday came. Fancy dress preparations had gone on under strict secrecy, so they couldn't pinch each other's ideas. Gimli had been playing with his Lego out in the garden and had to be forcibly dragged inside to try on his costume. The hobbits were stood together outside the sitting room, having come up with a joint theme for their fancy dress. They wanted to have a grand entrance for the rest of the waiting Fellowship.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The four hobbits leapt into the room.  
  
"No-one expects the….oh."  
  
Frodo stopped mid-sentence, and readjusted his hat and false moustache nervously. Pippin managed to grapple the Biggles helmet off Merry in triumph during the distraction.  
  
"We can't all go as the Spanish Inquisition."  
  
"We've learnt all the lines though." Argued Frodo. "And we don't have Inquisitors with stupid beards."  
  
"We thought of it first though."  
  
"Prove it!"  
  
"Don't have to. We're bigger than you."  
  
"Yeah, but do you know how difficult it is to get Spanish Inquisition suits this small?"  
  
Legolas decided to break it up before anyone started acting like the real Spanish Inquisition. "OK. Stop it. There's only one solution. NONE of us can go as the Spanish Inquisition. We're all going to have to find new costumes, alright?"  
  
There were some muted grumblings, but the idea was accepted. Suddenly from outside there were some strange zapping noises and a high pitched 'miaow'. Legolas looked at Gimli in horror.  
  
"Were you playing with the robotic Lego again?"  
  
"Yeah, but I de-programmed it from killing cats."  
  
The rest of the Fellowship tried to keep up with the new developments, but were interrupted by a shout from outside.  
  
"Tiddles! Oh my Tiddles! What have they done to you?"  
  
This was followed up a few moments later, proving that hell hath no fury like a woman de-felined.  
  
"Have you been interfering with my pussy?"  
  
It was a tribute to how wrathful she looked that neither Merry nor Pippin even smiled at this comment.  
  
"I can assure you that…"  
  
"YOU HAVE KILLED MY CAT!"  
  
She advanced on them, and the Fellowship decided as one that discretion was the better part of valour and ran.  
  
[At this moment the authors would respectfully ask that you imagine this next scene at double speed, with the Benny Hill music playing.]  
  
Mrs. Wainthrop had acquired a rolling pin. The fight or flight instinct kicked in and there was no way any of the Fellowship would stand against Mrs Wainthrop. Legolas, with elven speed was leading, closely followed by Aragorn and Gimli. The Hobbits had more trouble keeping up because of their short legs, although, in truth, all of them were running a bit slower than usual because it's difficult to run in full cardinal's robes.  
  
There was a noise from behind them that sounded far too mechanical to be coming from Mrs Wainthrop, so the hobbits broke the golden rule of not looking behind them to see something very strange, and also to solve the mystery of what was wrong with Aragorn's landrover. It was obvious now that half the engine must be missing and that the missing parts had gone into Gandalf's chair. The Hobbits decided to use this to their advantage, so slowed down and leapt on.  
  
"Come back here right now! Who do you think you are, impersonating the clergy and doing unnatural things to the furniture?"  
  
Gandalf changed gears, taking them up to an amazing 13 miles an hour. Merry jumped on to one of the arms, facing backwards to put him in a better vantage position for giving Mrs Wainthrop the finger. He hadn't planned on standing on the recline lever, though, and he was lucky to catch the back of the chair as it changed position. Fortunately for the rest of the passengers, and for Mrs Wainthrop's sanity, Merry was wearing underwear when his robes blew up over his head.  
  
With the chair reclined, Gandalf was out of reach of the gears and steering, making the chair veer wildly out of control. Pippin leapt into the driver's seat (Gandalf's lap, a place where few people are willing to venture, except in dire need), pulled on his flying goggles and took control.  
  
[Now dear readers, please switch back to normal speed, black and white and the music from 'The Dambusters'.]  
  
As they reached the park Mrs Wainthrop decided to concentrate her efforts on pursuing Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli since the chair was swerving to much to follow easily.  
  
Back in the chair, Frodo was sat on the back of the chair, with Sam and Merry on each of the arms and Pippin still driving. Frodo took command.  
  
"Right chaps, Johnny Wainthrop's got some of our chaps pinned down, we've got to go after them."  
  
"I thought her name was Irene."  
  
"Shut up, I was going for rhetorical effect. Tally ho, pip pip and Bernard's your uncle."  
  
"Don't insult him while he's driving, you'll put him off."  
  
"I wasn't talking to him, pip pip is just something you say in these situations."  
  
Pippin turned round, taking the steering wheel with him. "Is someone talking to me?"  
  
"Tree! TREE!"  
  
"Oh, thanks for that."  
  
"We've got to swing round and put her off somehow."  
  
"We could throw things, that would distract her."  
  
"With the things in Gandalf's chair we could probably kill her."  
  
"Oh can we, please?"  
  
"No, nobody does things like that any more, we'll just have to scare her off."  
  
Sam held up a half empty bottle of vadko. "We could use this."  
  
"Look, there she is, on the other side of the pond."  
  
"Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
Sam took out his emergency ball of string and he and Merry set up a mechanism that allowed them to start spinning the bottle at high speed.  
  
"Right chaps, we've only got one shot at this. The fellowship expects every man to do his duty."  
  
Pippin steered them towards the pond, ready to veer off at any second.  
  
"Steady, steady."  
  
Sam and Merry, with some magical assistance from Gandalf had managed to get the bottle spinning at an amazing speed.  
  
"Ready…Fire!"  
  
Pippin crouched behind the steering wheel as the bottle of vadko was launched over his head. He swerved to stop them going into the pond and the rest of passengers turned to watch the bottle. It bounced once, twice, three times then came to dry land at Mrs Wainthrop's feet.  
  
Mrs Wainthrop had only a few minor cuts, but was much more concerned by the fact that her slippers were starting to melt. She abandoned the pursuit and strode off home before she met anyone she knew and they thought she'd been drinking, taking one last shot at the chair with her rolling pin. Mrs. Wainthrop was a crack shot with the rolling pin (years of practise on the now deceased Mr. Wainthrop) Smoke poured from the chair's engine.  
  
"Ah cannae control her, captain! The engines cannae take much more of this!" Shouted Pippin, fighting with the steering wheel as they went into a steeply banked right hand turn.  
  
"Eject! Eject!"  
  
Merry grasped the recline lever and pulled it back into upright position, throwing all five passengers clear as the chair continued its curve until it crashed into a tree and exploded.  
  
Gandalf looked at the burning wreckage of his much loved chair and started to gibber.  
  
"Chair…chair…drink…"  
  
"I suppose we should just be thankful we got the drink out first though."  
  
"Yeah, if we hadn't, there would have been one hell of an explosion."  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli walked round the pond to check that Gandalf and the Hobbits were alright. On finding that they were alive at least, Aragorn decided to give speech of gratitude.  
  
"Never in the field of human conflict have so many…" The rest of the Fellowship felt that this speech was somehow familiar. "So many, given so much, to so few, so often. On so many occasions, have so few given…many." Aragorn looked confused and gave up. It was probably the vadko fumes going to his head.  
  
************************** ******************  
  
Back at the house, Merry and Pippin were in the back garden prodding the cat with the end of the outdoor extension wire.  
  
"Can we defibrillate?"  
  
"No, bugger off." Said Aragorn. "Go hunt down the AT-AT walker before it does any more damage."  
  
"Can we have guns?"  
  
"No, you can't. Use the strimmer and get the others to help you. I want that thing destroyed."  
  
Aragorn picked up the cat and carried it into the house. This was going to take all the healing skills of the king of Gondor, and probably a whole bottle of calpol too. Calpol is not, as stated in the bottle, paracetamol suspension, but in fact a mystic elven healing draught. This is where the pleasant flavouring and mild addictive properties come from.  
  
The hobbits had set up an ambush. They were sat behind a bush, with a feather duster laid out on the lawn. They were using a piece of string to twitch it, and were making 'miaow' noises. Behind a bush on the opposite side of the duster crouched Gimli, strimmer in hand. He had insisted he be the one to, in his words 'put it down'.  
  
There was a noise over to the hobbits' right. They held their breath. They could see the AT-AT walker in the undergrowth, apparently considering its next move. It began to creep out, keeping as close to cover as possible. It suspected a trap. However, there was a probable feline, and its instructions were quite clear. It lined up for a shot.  
  
Gimli took a deep breath. It was his monster; he was going to destroy it. He leapt out with a dwarvish battle cry and swung the strimmer at the AT-AT walker. It exploded into thousands of pieces. Gimli sighed.  
  
After some hard work the cat recovered, and Legolas and Aragorn went round to Mrs. Waintrop's to present it. She was not impressed, but less homicidal than she was before…  
  
******************* ************************ *********************  
  
Over the next few days Gandalf experimented with a number of costumes, now sat in a deckchair in lieu of getting a new chair. His first attempt was a piece of heather on one shoulder and a cornetto wrapper on the other shoulder.  
  
Frodo was confused. "Gandalf. Who are you supposed to be?"  
  
"Othello."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Othello." He indicated his shoulders. "Othello, the Moor of Venice."  
  
"No. It's a fancy dress ball, not a terrible pun ball."  
  
His next attempt, as MacBeth was even more short lived. Legolas came in while he was attaching the wire coathanger to his hat, with the plastic dagger on the end, for that inimitable 'is this a dagger I see before me?'. Legolas disarmed him before Frodo could see him. Gandalf spent a couple of days as Captain Kirk, complete with truss and bell-bottoms before going back to Shakespeare.  
  
"What is it now? Why the toy mouse?" Frodo was getting bored with this.  
  
"Down girl!" Gandalf looked expectant.  
  
"Go on. Do tell me. I can barely contain myself."  
  
"I'm Petruchio. The Taming of the Shrew?"  
  
"That's a mouse. And I thought we'd established the difference between 'fancy dress' and 'terrible pun'."  
  
The Fellowship reconvened for another go at the fancy dress a few days before the party. Gandalf had actually managed to find a costume rather than a pun. The rest of the Fellowship thought that as he was going to go as Anne Robinson, he should have at least shaved his beard off, or at the very minimum tucked some of his hair under the ginger wig. The black trouser suit did look quite reasonable though. This was strangely disturbing, but the Fellowship tried to take as little notice of it as possible, at least he hadn't followed up on his threat to use Pippin's favourite costume.  
  
Speaking of which, Pippin had managed to find a costume, which while it involved clothes, didn't involve many clothes.  
  
"My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius…"  
  
"Don't you mean Minimus?" said Merry.  
  
Pippin waved his sword at him menacingly. "You can't exactly talk, with what you two are wearing."  
  
'You two' were Merry and Frodo, fetchingly dressed as Agnetha and Anni-Frid with Frodo on very high platforms and Merry on much lower ones to even out their heights. They were also wearing a pair of ravishing, sparkly dresses and worryingly convincing bosoms, which caused some comment.  
  
"It's a gel filled bra."  
  
"Why do you two own gel filled bras?"  
  
Frodo decided to change the subject. "Sam, what've you come as?"  
  
Sam hadn't had much time to organise his costume, so had rummaged through a box of old clothes in the loft in much the same way as people do before going to a 70s party. He had finally settled on a suit from several centuries ago.  
  
"I'm Capability Brown."  
  
"Who?" asked Pippin.  
  
"The most famous gardener ever."  
  
"I thought that was Charlie Dimmock."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Sam and Pippin started a sword, or more accurately, a sword and hoe fight. Frodo tried to quieten them down by asking about Aragorn and Legolas' costumes, which were…somewhat unusual.  
  
"Well, I'm Doctor Who, if you couldn't have guessed from the scarf and the hat, and this is my assistant, Romana." Aragorn indicated Legolas, in a white dress, white knee boots and very 70s hair.  
  
"Wait a minute, didn't Doctor Who have male assistants too?"  
  
"Yes, but they were all really useless, Romana was a time lord. And I didn't see you objecting to Gandalf cross-dressing."  
  
"Since when was Anne Robinson a woman?"  
  
"Wait a minute, what's that smell? Did someone leave the cooker on?"  
  
Gimli entered the room, wearing a battered Victorian suit and had parted his beard and pinned it up to the side of his head to create enormous sideburns. There was a stovepipe hat on his head which increased his height by over a foot and he was smoking a cigar, which was the source of the smell.  
  
"Who're you supposed to be?"  
  
"Isambard Kingdom Brunel."  
  
******************************* ************************************  
  
Will Gandalf drink Elrond dry? Will the Cybermen turn up at the party? Will Gimli rebuild the Clifton Suspension Bridge over Elrond's ornamental lake? Or will Pippin in fact have his vengeance in this life or the next?  
  
Tune in for the next exciting episode, which may or may not turn up before we go home for the Easter holidays. 


	16. The Karaoke of Elrond

Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Flatmate.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. We don't own Abba, Queen, Gloria Gaynor, Dr. Who and associated persons, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Gladiator, Captain Birdseye, Swallows and Amazons or Capability Brown. Colonel Melchett is the grandson of General Melchett, c/o Blackadder. The Hedgehog Song belongs to Terry Pratchett.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous lack of underwear.)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: 'Abba Gold' and 'Queen's Greatest Hits' would be handy. Also a knowledge of who the following people are:  
  
Isambard Kingdom Brunel: Victorian Engineer who did railways, boats (metal ones) and bridges.  
  
Catherine the Great: Empress of Russia, notorious for her amount of lovers. Story about the horse though probably not true.  
  
Cirdan: Elf. Built the ships that took the elves to the west, original possessor of the ring of power Gandalf ends up with. Appears in film for 2.5 seconds.  
  
James Watt: Inventor of efficient steam engine.  
  
  
  
The Karaoke of Elrond.  
  
Elrond's stately pile is a splendid example of the late eighteenth century neo-classical revival in English architecture, the beautifully balanced wings creating a building perfectly proportioned, marvellously at home in its landscaped gardens, and not at all enhanced by a Forestry commission Landrover with so much dirt on it you could grow potatoes. They had intended to go through the car wash, but Pippin and Sam, who had drawn the short straw for travelling on the roof (Merry and Frodo were insisting on standing up in the back so as not to crease their dresses), had complained loudly. Pippin especially was adamant that if they went through a car wash he'd rust, and had threatened to do horrible things to Aragorn with his gladius if they did.  
  
The Landrover was abandoned to its fate along with a large number of limousines, BMWs, Bentleys, and inexplicably one Soviet-era Lada. They proceeded to the entrance with as much dignity as they could muster. None.  
  
"Do you think this split's too revealing?"  
  
"Not with your legs."  
  
"You are wearing underwear?"  
  
"Yeah, have I got knicker-line?"  
  
"Umm, did anyone suggest to you not to wear boxers with a skin tight dress?" Merry frowned and wriggled to try and smooth the boxers down a little.  
  
"Why? You wear underwear rarely enough as it is?" Legolas was embarrassed enough as it was…  
  
"Last time I wore this. Ummmmmm, well, last time there was some… exposure."  
  
"SOME exposure? He says SOME exposure?" said Frodo.  
  
"Hang on. Last time?" Legolas wanted answers. However, as far as Frodo and Merry were concerned he was more likely to discover the secret of cold fusion while watching 'Blackadder'.  
  
The party was a high security affair; Elrond knew enough People who had Enemies, or even People who were Enemies of People, or People who had had enough People killed to start worrying about Knives In Backs. Or even being determinedly clubbed to death with a teaspoon (we meant the capital 'E' on Enemies). Therefore, there was a metal detector on the way in, and this being an elven party, a magical-items-of-possible-belligerent-use detector.  
  
Frodo, Merry and Gimli fell at the first hurdle of the metal detector. The security guards had apparently heard of Pippin's reputation beforehand, had decided they weren't paid enough for that and just waved him though.  
  
"It's all the sparkly bits. They're all metal. Can you let us through?"  
  
"I'm afraid we will have to strip search you."  
  
Merry looked far too pleased with this state of affairs. Gimli, on the other hand, was exceedingly unhappy.  
  
"Och, yer not strip searchin me. Not having strangers' hands in unfamiliar places!"  
  
Frodo sighed. "You're wearing the iron underwear again aren't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Gimli…"  
  
"Yes. Och."  
  
"Go and take them off."  
  
"I'm no goin in there naked under my clothes!"  
  
"You're wearing a full Victorian suit. It's not exactly revealing."  
  
While Gimli was being talked out of his underwear Gandalf was having problems with the magic detectors.  
  
"The staff is part of my costume! Do not meddle in the ways of Anne Robinson!"  
  
"LET GO! NOW!"  
  
Legolas and the two elves dealing with the magical items also had hold of the staff and were attempting to wrestle Gandalf for it. This was a course of action hindered by the fact that their heightened elven senses made them really want to keep their distance from Gandalf.  
  
Aragorn decided that it was time to use cunning.  
  
"Gandalf… there's free drink inside."  
  
"I know, if these fools of elves would give my staff back!"  
  
"If you put the staff down, you can have the drinks."  
  
"I'm a very old man. Creation of the world? Been there, done that, got the live album. I need the stick to walk."  
  
"I didn't know you were planning to walk further than the drinks table." Legolas was acutely aware that they had now drawn a crowd and was sure there were some muffled sniggers of 'Lars' from the back of it.  
  
Eventually, with the help of a waved bottle of Stolichnaya, Gandalf was disarmed. Gimli had been deprived of his underwear and was feeling distinctly uncomfortable and Frodo and Merry couldn't stop giggling. They proceeded to the main hall of the party and, in the tradition of all truly expensive parties, they were announced.  
  
"The Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn, also known as Strider, Estel, Wingfoot, You Bastard and That-Useless-Dunadan-Gobshite."  
  
The announcer looked at the card Elrond had supplied him with with slight confusion, but the message seemed to have gotten across.  
  
"Legolas of Mirkwood, also known as Lars, Romana, Lucinda and Tracey."  
  
From the other side of the room a group of younger Elves could be seen snorting into his champagne glasses and whispering.  
  
"Gimli son of Gloin, son of - " The announcer descended into laughter, only just turning off his microphone in time.  
  
"Samwise Gamgee, Mayor of Hobbiton (retired) and winner of The Great North Show's biggest marrow competition 1947-58."  
  
Next the announcer attempted to introduce Gandalf, but got as far as 'Mithr- " before the wizard himself knocked him over while foraging for more drink.  
  
The announcer picked himself up again and tried for the last three. "Thain Peregrin Took, also known as 'Have You Seen This Man', 'Wanted: Reward 10 Shillings' and Tinkletoes. Meriadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, also known as Dave. Frodo Baggins, former r-" The announcer doubled over, groaning as 'Have You Seen This Man' headbutted him between the legs.  
  
Then announcer, however, was committed to his job and after a short recovery, carried on. "Also known as Case B, Patient X and Volume Two of the Complete Handbook to Psychiatry."  
  
********* *********  
  
"Excuse me, but are you by any chance dressed as Isambard Kingdom Brunel?"  
  
Gimli looked up. "And are you dressed as James Watt?"  
  
"I have to ask you, but do you think the wide-gauge railway was the best missed opportunity in British Engineering?"  
  
"YES!"  
  
Gimli had found his new best friend. In the next ten minutes their conversation had covered the Great Eastern, the Great Western and the incompetent bastard who built the first Tay Bridge. Tristan, the James Watt look-alike was in the middle of a PhD in steam engineering and was almost bouncing off the ceiling with excitement at having found someone as enthusiastic about old engineering projects as he was. Gimli, being shorter, was bouncing off the walls at having found someone he could tell all his anecdotes about the engineering projects to.  
  
"Yes, definitely, I'm sure the Victorian Hydroelectric systems are still here, Elrond had them unplugged because the national grid was more reliable."  
  
"Really?" Tristan was impressed. "The original system is still in the grounds somewhere?"  
  
Gimli nodded  
  
"We've got to go and find it. We simply must!"  
  
"We'd better get ourselves some equipment first, I mean, there won't be any lights and the doors are probably nailed shut."  
  
Tristan's eyes lit up. "Adventures! Like 'Swallows and Amazons'!"  
  
"Yes…" Gimli had never been a terribly social person, dwarves never are, and although he'd never read 'Swallows and Amazons', decided to go along because it had to be better than the party and he could probably find a crowbar or something else heavy to hit Tristan with if 'Swallows and Amazons' was even filthier than he thought it sounded.  
  
********* ******  
  
"Samwise is such an unusual name! How delightful!"  
  
"What?"  
  
Sam had been accosted by a gaggle of women who would be beautiful were it not for their close resemblance to thoroughbred horses. They appeared to be attracted to him for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was hobbit pheromones, or perhaps they'd heard what it is they say about men with very big feet (they spend a lot on shoes), but whatever the reason they had latched onto him.  
  
"Who aaare you dressed as? It's a simply wonderful costume, and the wig sets it off perfectly!"  
  
"Uuuummm, Capability Brown."  
  
"Oh, how lovely, he did our garden."  
  
"What, recently?"  
  
"No, silly, in the eighteenth century!"  
  
They laughed, or more accurately whinnied.  
  
******* *******  
  
Meanwhile, the rest of the Fellowship, apart from Gandalf, had elbowed someone dressed as Darth Maul out of the way in an attempt to get better acquainted with the drinks table. Gandalf, having managed to hide three magnums of champagne and bottle of very good vodka packed in ice in his costume, was really starting to get into the business of getting seriously drunk, when he heard the voice from under the drinks table.  
  
"Whashall we do wi a drunken sailor, washall we do wi a drunken sailor, washall we do wi a drunken saaaaaaaaaaaaailor, early in the mornin'."  
  
Gandalf was pretty sure that Elrond would never shame himself by serving vadko at one of his parties, so the voice under the table must be real. He lifted the tablecloth to reveal a bearded elf dressed as 'Captain Birdseye'.  
  
"Cirdan?"  
  
"Mithrandir!"  
  
"How's it going? How's the boats?"  
  
"Boas? Don' talk to me abou' boas. Wood! You make em out of wood, not metal. I thought I saw Kingdom Brunel go past. If I see him again, I'll punch the fecker. Iron clad, my arse!"  
  
This statement caused Gandalf some confusion, but he let it pass. He crawled under the table and offered Cirdan some of his vodka.  
  
********** ************  
  
Aragorn and Legolas seemed to have found their niche in the party. Aragorn had acquired a glass of port and was talking to a group of men who had even more facial hair than he did, or at least longer facial hair. The conversation had quickly got round to Big Dogs, landrovers, and killing things, subjects which Aragorn could quite happily talk about for hours, although he did get a bit lost in the bit about the cost of re-roofing the west wing because the last time there had been a west wing to re-roof the bill had come in guineas.  
  
Legolas would have wandered off to find a more interesting conversation, but he was having trouble with his drink. It wasn't so much that he was drinking Pimms and lemonade, but attempting to suck a fruit salad lubricated with a dash of Pimms and lemonade through a straw, and there was cucumber in it, which wasn't really helping.  
  
There was the strange noise of metal grating against metal under great strain.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Sounds exactly like m'Poppy did when she was giving birth."  
  
"Your wife?"  
  
"No, m' best hunter. Had a terrible time of it, never going to breed with her again."  
  
Legolas was snapped out of his fruit salad-induced reverie by a large hand landing on his shoulder.  
  
"Veronica!"  
  
Legolas turned round to see the large red face atop a large red uniform attached to the hand and politely tried to explain that he was not, in fact, called Veronica.  
  
"Of course you're Veronica, could never forget your face, or the rest of you. You haven't aged a day since I last saw you in '89. You can't say you've forgotten your old Colonel Melchett."  
  
"My name is not Veronica."  
  
"Course it is, or perhaps, you'd prefer Lady Gallsworthy, you liked it when I called you that before."  
  
"Please, go away and stop bothering me."  
  
"You didn't say that before."  
  
Legolas decided to have a go at changing the subject. "So why haven't you come in fancy dress?"  
  
"I have, I've come as Colonel Armstrong, artillery chap, borrowed his uniform. He's come as me, you know, floating round the party somewhere."  
  
"I see." Legolas was attempting to signal to Aragorn to come and rescue him. Now.  
  
"Would you like another drink, m'dear. You seem to just be sucking on the fruit salad."  
  
For a second Legolas thought about refusing as rudely as he could while still staying within the boundaries of polite in case he led him on, but then decided to let him do it as it might give him the chance to run away. However, this did not go entirely as planned.  
  
"Oh sorry." Legolas apologised to Darth Maul, whom he had just tripped up. Darth Maul gave him and Aragorn a filthy look and hissed.  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
Legolas turned round at the sound of his name to see Galadriel sweeping in in full hostess mode, dressed in an 18th century ball gown.  
  
"Galadriel…is that your Catherine the Great costume?"  
  
"Yes, wonderful, isn't it. It's modelled on one of the originals, you know."  
  
Aragorn and Legolas exchanged Looks. Aragorn had Met Catherine the Great and had spent the next fortnight riding sidesaddle.  
  
"Legolas, there's someone over here who you really have to meet, why don't you just come with me…"  
  
********* ********  
  
Frodo, Merry and Pippin had all managed to use their height to their advantage when it came to getting nearer the drinks table and had spent most of the evening so far sitting on chairs piled high with cushions drinking flaming B52s through straws.  
  
"Ha! M'strws leeeeest burnt n'so I win."  
  
"Ok, Ok, lesh say best of 14 then…"  
  
"Bu' tha means I've still won."  
  
"Not if we drink another 14 it doesn't."  
  
"Nonononono. Nearly set m'bosoms on fire last time, no more flames."  
  
"Wha was tha noise?"  
  
"Wha noise?"  
  
"Like when we put Gimli's iron underpants in the washin' machine."  
  
"Souns' more lie a cheese grater to me."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Being cheese-gratery. With another cheese grater."  
  
"So thas' where you get baby cheese graters."  
  
"Frododododo, why've you grown."  
  
"Not grown. And not over there either…oh. Ello Elrond."  
  
Elrond and Haldir were stood, arms folded looking at the hobbits. They were angry. Very angry.  
  
"I thought that there was to be liaison so no-one had the same costumes."  
  
"Sorry. Din thin you' do Abba as well. Niice dress Haldir."  
  
"This is embarrassing. This is my party, and you, you turn up having stolen my costume idea!"  
  
"Stolen? Nah, no' stolen. Jus coincidence."  
  
"I demand you go and change."  
  
"No way. We're a better Abba than you. Been Practicing."  
  
"Yeah. Can do… stuff."  
  
"That is beside the point…"  
  
"No, is not. We put time'n effort into this. Important."  
  
Frodo had a determined gleam in his eye. "We'll show you what Abba should be like…" He scuttled over to the string quartet, dodging Darth Maul, while Merry started stretching. Pippin knew what was coming and decided this was the moment to make his exit, muttering about how little alcohol it took to make Frodo sing on tables.  
  
Frodo had finished his negotiations with the sting quartet and made his way back to Merry. There was some muttered planning, then they got up on the nearest table that  
  
was unencumbered with alcohol.  
  
The strings launched into a very familiar pizzicato opening. Frodo and Merry stood back to back on the table, heads turned to face the audience.  
  
"Mama Mia. Here I go again.."  
  
They were not just, in the best drag act style, mouthing the words. They were actually singing it, in very convincing and tuneful falsetto. They had also got a very good dance routine going on. The rest of the Fellowship were watching them open-mouthed. Sam decided that this was really a very good time to show the horsey women round the garden, although their agreements to this were just a little too enthusiastic. Gandalf and Cidan left, drunkenly leaning on each other and saying things about a "boainlak". Aragorn seemed to have evaporated. Pippin, who had been chatting up a chambermaid built like a prehistoric fertility goddess, decided that this was the time to steer her out of the room and in the general direction of the shrubbery. Legolas, however, much like witnesses to a car crash was possessed with a horrified fascination.  
  
Elrond and Haldir were not pleased. They knew they could not compete with such a professional Abba. Frodo and Merry decided to follow up 'Mama Mia' with an energetic version of 'Waterloo', before heading back in the direction of alcohol again.  
  
************ ***********  
  
Out in the garden things were getting busy. Gandalf and Cirdan were heading towards the boating lake carrying a Louis XIV writing desk and an Edwardian hat stand. Pippin was in the process of seducing Barbara the chambermaid, using up some of his best chat up lines.  
  
"Has anybody ever told ye ye'v got great knockers?"  
  
"Ta. Well, actually just 'bout everybody says that."  
  
"Yeah, well, ah dunnae just mean great knockers, ah mean truly enor- wonderful knockers."  
  
"Look I don't come out ere for conversation."  
  
"Look, ah wuz just tryin to create an ambience."  
  
"Shurrup and get yer shortarse over ere."  
  
Pippin liked this woman.  
  
On the other side of the rhododendrons Sam was having a far less pleasant time. The horsey women had all disappeared, save one. Sam was feeling like he was being hunted, like a lone wildebeest who can smell lion, but knows there is nothing they can do about it. Frodo and Merry were going to suffer. It was only embarrassment that had caused him to leave the herd, and now he was alone. Prey.  
  
"Do you have a girlfriend Samwise?"  
  
"Ummmm, no, not at the moment." Sam realised as soon as he had said this that this had been the wrong answer.  
  
"I can't imagine what someone like you is doing still single…"  
  
"Oh, you know, bachelor lifestyle. Yes, that's it. Like being free and single."  
  
"But surely the joy of going home to a home cooked tea, a warm house."  
  
Sam couldn't imagine that she knew which way up a saucepan went. "But I go home to that every night.."  
  
"Oh, yes, the cook, but its not the same as having someone to share it with."  
  
"Frodo's not the cook. He's my friend."  
  
"Ooooooh, you mean the man dressed as… Abba?"  
  
"Yes, that's him. He practices that a lot."  
  
"Really? And, and the other… gentleman being Abba?"  
  
"That's his cousin. He lives with us too."  
  
Were it not for the self control which is in-bred into the truly posh she would have run screaming. "I am sorry to have got the wrong impression…"  
  
"What wrong impression?"  
  
"That you were, um, single."  
  
"I am single." Damn. He'd told the truth again and really hadn't intended to.  
  
"Then you aren't… a, a, a non-hetrosexualist then?"  
  
Sam had no idea what she was getting at; he just nodded in fear.  
  
"So glad to have cleared up this misunderstanding." She started to advance on him. Sam started to retreat, but tripped and fell backwards into the bushes. She was still advancing. Sam closed his eyes. This was the end of any shreds of self-respect he still retained.  
  
By the boating lake Gandalf and Cirdan were attempting to remember the principles of buoyancy. A drawer from the writing desk floated perfectly well on its own, but when Gandalf got in it had a tendency to sink. When Cirdan got in it also sank, but rather more slowly since he didn't have several magnums of champagne secreted about his person. They had gone back to the house to test the theory that all they needed was a bigger drawer, but this was hampered by it still being full of Galadriel's underwear. However, this had inspired the next plan, of making a boat from bits of the writing desk held together with knicker elastic and bras.  
  
Activities in the Rhododendron bushes were just starting to get energetic, whether this was lewdness or in Sam's case the fight for life, when a large group of figures appeared at an upstairs balcony, holding powerful torches, floodlighting the spectacle of Pippin conquering the lower slopes of Mount Barbara.  
  
"Ahhhhh, you gonna take me home tonight. Ahhhh down beside your red firelight. Ahh, fat-bottomed girls you make the rockin world go round…!" This was sung with gusto by a group led by two sets of dangerously swaying Abbas who had apparently made their peace.  
  
The horsey woman shrieked. She obviously thought this was in reference to her, and ran off, because those diet pills had been exceedingly expensive. Sam took his chance to slink off to any safe looking place. Hanging round with Frodo and Merry was embarrassing but less humiliating than this.  
  
On the other side of the Rhododendron bushes neither Pippin nor Barbara seemed to be showing any signs of shame. They finished, and the audience on the balcony held up scorecards for technical execution and artistic interpretation. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to be heading even for a bronze medal place on the basis of those scores.  
  
"Ah demand a stewards inquiry!"  
  
************ **************  
  
Legolas was starting to wonder whether someone had been putting something illegal into his drink because he didn't think he could get into a situation like this under any other circumstances. The room was full of Doctor Whos, Doctor's assistant and various bad guys. At the back of the room there was a Dalek, apparently trying to down shots of vodka through its sink plunger. Legolas waded through the sea of long scarves and frock coats until he eventually found a hairy, disreputable looking Doctor Who watching recorded episodes and playing the Doctor Who Drinking Game.  
  
"Assistant screams, take a drink everyone!"  
  
"No, that's a male assistant screaming, two shots!"  
  
The assembled Doctors knocked back their shots and one of them slid under the sofa.  
  
One of the Cybermen looked in Legolas' direction. "Lars! What brings you to my Tardis?"  
  
"Glorfindel? This is all yours I take it, including the full size replica tardis and cut-outs of the assistants?"  
  
"Well, I have a lot of time on my hands, I need a little hobby. Actually, I was having the most interesting conversation with Aragorn about how Doctor Who is really just a Ranger in space…"  
  
Legolas had heard this all before. In fact he'd been hearing the full hour- long lecture version every few months since the BBC had first commissioned the series.  
  
Aragorn perked up at the sound of his name. "Romanadvoratrelundar! You're looking particularly Galifreyan tonight!" He put his arm around Leoglas' shoulder, more to hold himself up than as a gesture of friendship.  
  
"Aragorn, we should really get back to the main party, the Hobbits are…getting up to things."  
  
"But, but, but, we're nearly up to the episode Mary Whitehouse tried to ban!"  
  
"Look, I'll buy you the video, just come and help me stop the Hobbits from embarrassing us any further."  
  
"You never let me have any fun."  
  
Legolas dragged Aragorn away from the mini Doctor Who convention and out into the corridor and was about to try and find his way back to the main hall when Frodo and Merry crashed into him.  
  
"Gandalf! Cirdan! Lake! Knickers! Sinking!"  
  
Legolas went into schoolteacher mood. "Slow down, take deep breaths and tell me calmly what happened."  
  
"Gandalf and Cirdan made a boat out of a desk and knicker elastic and they got out into the middle of the lake and now they're sinking." Frodo finally stopped to take a breath just as he was starting to go blue.  
  
"They did what? No, don't repeat it, if you collapse it'll only make things worse."  
  
They strode out towards the lake, pausing only briefly at the gamekeeper's shed to pick up a coil of rope, which just happened to have a gibbering Sam attached to it and since he couldn't be persuaded to let go, they took him with them.  
  
"Rope. Rope good, always need rope, very useful."  
  
"Yes, but you don't need to hold on to it so tight. Nothing bad's going to happen if you let go, I promise, Scout's honour."  
  
"Scouts?"  
  
"Brownie's honour."  
  
Sam eventually let go, and luckily they were just in time. A few minutes previously the desk had snapped in half, and now the remaining stern-end was bobbing up and down on the surface, about to begin its slow descent into the deep, with Gandalf and Cirdan balanced precariously on top.  
  
"Don't let go, Gandalf!"  
  
"I can't let go, you've tied us together because you know I'm the only one who can swim!" Gandalf thought about this for a moment. "Why the hell didn't you learn to swim, anyway, you've been around water your entire life you stupid bastard!"  
  
"I have confidence in my ship-building abilities!"  
  
"So did Ismay when he built the Titanic!"  
  
Legolas considered throwing them the rope, but realised that they were bickering too much to catch the rope, so tied it into a lasso and dragged them back to the side of the lake.  
  
Gandalf recovered first. "It is customary to offer those who have been near death a brandy."  
  
********** *********  
  
Gimli and Tristan were starting to really look the part of Victorian engineers. Lit by the flickering light of oil lamps, they had long since discarded their jackets and were working with their sleeves rolled up. They were covered in oil and the dust that had gathered in the room since anyone was last in it and enjoying every second of it.  
  
"And if we just hit it with the spanner like so, and leap back in case I've got this wrong and anything drops on us, we should be able to put the water in and see if it still goes."  
  
Gimli hit the side of the strange mechanical beast in a very precise and calculated way and they both sprang back. Nothing fell off.  
  
"I think there's a stopcock here to let in water from the lake…"  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
"Och, I think we shall."  
  
Tristan turned the stopcock and set the entire hydroelectric system into motion. There was a moment of silence while they waited to see if it leaked. But the system was sound and working perfectly and Tristan and Gimli leapt around the room in triumph.  
  
******** ********  
  
Unbeknownst to the budding engineers, Elrond had never actually got round to disconnecting the hydroelectric system from the house's fuse box – he hadn't seen the point since it was going to be switched off.  
  
"Does anyone else think the lights in here are getting a bit bright?" asked Legolas.  
  
There was a whirr, then a blinding flash and many small explosions joined together as the hydroelectric system gathered momentum and the power surged, blowing every lightbulb in the house.  
  
"Well, now you come to mention it, no."  
  
Sam made a grab for Frodo.  
  
"What on earth are you doing?"  
  
"Well, there's people out to get me. They might find me in the dark."  
  
"People out to get you?"  
  
"This woman, she looks like a horse and she tried to molest me in the rhododendrons."  
  
"Ah, the worst place to be molested."  
  
"Stop taking the piss, this is serious."  
  
"Alright, if she finds us you can pretend that I'm your boyfriend, but I do draw the line at kissing you."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
Aragorn and Merry had managed to find torches on their trip to the gamekeeper's shed, but instead of trying to look for other lost people, they were reflecting them off the mirrors, intoning 'this is the voice of the mysterons' and giggling. Legolas cuffed Aragorn round the side of the head and took the torches.  
  
"Sam, Frodo, take these and go and find either Elrond or Galadriel to see if there's any emergency lighting."  
  
As if on cue, Galadriel appeared at the other end of the corridor and started weaving towards them, giving occasional cries of 'aiyah!', 'wsnihahaha!' and 'neiiow!' between giggles.  
  
"Galadriel…? Are you alright?"  
  
Pippin emerged from underneath Galadriel's skirts. "She's fine, just a bit pissed. However, the doonstairs bathroom is fillin up with horrible green slimy water, exactly like this stuff that we're covered in."  
  
Merry temporarily lost the power of speech. "Wsnip? Hut? Haveyousl- I mean, you and Galadriel, have you got the thousand points?"  
  
"Nah, when the bathroom starts filling up with horrible green slimy water it kind of pits ye aff, and noo she's too far gone fir it tae count."  
  
Merry visibly relaxed – he was currently leading by 6 points, even taking Barbara into account.  
  
Elrond and Haldir came round the corner, armed with a large supply of candles and followed by a crowd of people dressed as various Doctor Who characters complaining about the lack of videos.  
  
After much mutual effort the house was lit with candles and Galadriel was put to bed, without any help from Pippin whatsoever. Then Aragorn had a good idea.  
  
"We should sing to keep our spirits up. It'll be like during the blitz."  
  
"Which, as I recall, you spent in the Highlands of Scotland," said Legolas.  
  
"I listened to it on the radio, all of Churchill's speeches, and I was digging for victory and making do and mending."  
  
"Yes, but digging yourself an air raid shelter and making do and mending because you'd rather sell your clothing rations doesn't count."  
  
Aragorn steamrollered this. "Anyway, it's the principle that counts. Anyone want to have a sing-song?"  
  
"I know a song about a hedgehog," volunteered Pippin.  
  
"Anyone want to have a sing-song that doesn't involve hedgehogs?"  
  
The rest of the party all looked at their shoes and pretended Aragorn was talking to someone else.  
  
"Alright then, I'll start, and since there are so many of my ex-wife's relatives here today, I want to dedicate this one to her."  
  
Aragorn took his position at the foot of the staircase, adjusted his scarf and tipped his hat to a more rakish angle.  
  
"At first I was afraid, I was petrified…"  
  
Frodo, Merry, Elrond and Haldir knew what was coming next and, not seeing any point in trying to go against it, assumed the role of backing dancers behind him on the stairs.  
  
Aragorn was really getting into it. "But did I crumble? Did I lay down and die? Oh no not I, I will survive!"  
  
At this point he was joined by two cybermen, inexplicably doing the staying alive dance. Legolas just sat down with his head in his hands and waited until he died of embarrassment.  
  
Now that everyone was starting to get into the spirit of it, Elrond took over at the piano and Haldir borrowed a violin from one of the string quartet.  
  
"Master Took, I hear you do a very good, or at least passable, Freddie Mercury, and since Galadriel is indisposed, would you oblige us with Bohemian Rhapsody?"  
  
Pippin leapt to his feet and a choir of Elves assembled behind him. "Is this the real life, is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…"  
  
The rendition continued with increasing gusto, until the high point of the performance.  
  
"Beelzebub has the devil brought a son for mee, for meeee, for meeeeeeeeee!"  
  
At this point the massed elves began to headbang wildly to Haldir's attempts to do the guitar solo on the violin. Pippin would have been in the position of 'laughing until he was sick' were it not for the fact that he was headbanging along with the best of them. The song ended, leaving Pippin collapsed in a dramatic heap on the floor. Merry went over and kicked him, saying that he was exposing rather more than everyone wanted to see. This notwithstanding it was going to be pretty hard to top that piece of entertainment.  
  
One of the elves was staggering off, the headbanging having been a little inadvisable in his drunken condition. He tripped on the trailing robes of another of the guests, inadvertently ripping off the entire costume, including the mask. There was a gasp and the room went silent. Then up came the cry: "SARUMAN!"  
  
This was closely followed by Pippin's "hey, Ah've got some Homer Simpson boxers just like that…"  
  
Gandalf strode down the stairs, his six and a half thousand-year alcohol problem forgotten. He was the all-powerful Gandalf the White once more. Even though a more accurate description of what he looked like would be Gandalf the Very Stained And Covered In Big Green Drippy Bits Of Pondweed.  
  
"Saruman. Why have you returned?"  
  
"Heard Galadriel was having another one of her parties…"  
  
"Begone, servant of the Dark Lord!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"What do you mean 'why'? You're a servant of the Dark Lord. Sod off."  
  
"Make me. I am also a powerful wizard!"  
  
Gandalf drew him up to his full height, rearranged the wig, pulled a spare pair of glasses from his pocket and looked at Saruman witheringly over them. The elves were shocked to see darkness amongst them once more. They would fight the Dark One, as they had fought alongside Aragorn and Isildur. Glorfindel, still in Cybermen regalia sidled up behind Saruman. He tapped him on the shoulder gently, and with the elven combination of grace and brute strength, headbutted him as he turned round.  
  
Gandalf walked over to the prone Saruman.  
  
"Saruman. You are the Weakest Link. Goodbye." 


	17. Random Slashy Interlude III: Return of t...

WARNING: This is slash, ie if you don't want to know about m/m relationships, stop reading. Warning for readers of slash: Het content. Warning for readers of het: slash content. Warning for readers of other fandoms: Hobbit content.  
  
Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Dent.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. Charlie Dimmock belongs to herself, and we mean no offence. Pussy Galore belongs to James Bond (in a very literal way) who belongs to Ian Fleming.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; gratuitous relationship strife)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: Having never watched 'Queer as Folk' and Random Dent's attempts to drink her way down Canal Street (the village, ie the gay bits for those who haven't worked it out yet) in Manchester ended up with her getting completely sloshed in the first pub, so we are prepared to be corrected on anything we've got wrong.  
  
Warning: Many of the things Merry and Frodo get up to in Manchester will get you a smack in the mouth if not worse, that is why this is a work of fiction.  
  
  
  
Random Slashy Interlude III: Return of the Brandybuck.  
  
"I think that its time we talked about something."  
  
"Ok. Ummmm. Wasn't the siege of Acre fun?" Aragorn looked enthusiastic, as he always did before he started on one of his military anecdotes.  
  
"No, I meant we need to talk about us. And what the hell do you mean, 'fun'? Sieges aren't supposed to be fun!"  
  
"They are if you're on the outside!"  
  
"No they are not. You are trying to get me off the subject. This needs to be talked about."  
  
"Alright. Umm. I think you are a really quite nice elf."  
  
" 'Quite nice'. I merit a 'quite nice'" Legolas had his arms folded.  
  
"Umm. Very nice?"  
  
"Nicer than Arwen?"  
  
"Yeeeeees. But that's not hard. Pippin's nicer than Arwen." Aragorn realised immediately he'd said the wrong thing.  
  
"Ah. So back to kinky hobbit loving again are we? Just exactly how devoted were you to Frodo on the quest? And who was it who suggested we risk our lives running after, ooh yes I remember now, Merry and Pippin? Hunt some orc, my arse, hunt some hobbit more like."  
  
"No, no, I didn't mean that. I meant that you're lots nicer than Arwen because the average orc on a good day is nicer than Arwen."  
  
"Ah. The torrent of praise goes on. I am nicer than an orc, and Pippin. Forgive me if I do not melt at your feet. Why don't you write me a sonnet, Shakespeare bloody well appreciated me!"  
  
Aragorn was trying to oblige. "Ummm. There was a young elf called Legolas,  
  
Who had the most wonderful…"  
  
"SONNET! You uncultured idiot, not a dirty limerick!" Legolas turned round and crossed his arms, deliberately ignoring Aragorn. He did relent slightly after a few minutes. "Do you really think I have a wonderful…"  
  
"Oh yes. And lots of other wonderful things as well. I'm just not very good at talking about it."  
  
Legolas relented. He turned round to see Aragorn smiling in a hopeful, yet also manic, worried fashion.  
  
"We do need to talk. You been split up from Arwen for more than a century, but you're still not over her."  
  
"Yes I am. She took the children, remember? Well, the children's mortal remains. "  
  
"Why do you yell out her name in your sleep?"  
  
"Those are nightmares, and really horrible ones as well. It's not like I'm having … those kind of dreams about her."  
  
Legolas couldn't resist the target. "Yes, we all know you only have those kind of dreams about Boromir."  
  
Aragorn looked sulky. "'Snot my fault. I was drugged."  
  
"Yes, yes I know. What are the nightmares about?"  
  
"You'll laugh."  
  
"No I won't"  
  
Aragorn looked doubtful, but told him anyway. "I'm in Harvey Nichols and I'm being chased by hundreds of seven foot tall cheese straws that all look like Arwen. And when we get to the lingerie section I'm trapped, and I can't get out, and then I wake up."  
  
"If they let you into Harvey Nicks it must be a dream. Sorry, alright, the nightmares aren't nice, but don't you see? It's all subconscious. If you're still dreaming about her, you're still thinking about her. I don't know what Freud would have to say about the phallic symbolism of a cheese straw, but he had more one track mind than yours."  
  
"Of course I'm still thinking about her. We were married for a few millennia, I'm not about to forget about her overnight."  
  
Legolas knew it was time for action, but there was no way he was taking Aragorn to couple counsellor, it would just be too embarrassing. But the situation definitely required action and not the kind of action Aragorn would suggest, that had been the answer to everything for far too long.  
  
******** *******  
  
"Mr Gamgee?"  
  
Sam looked down from the ladder he was using to trim the top of the hedge in Mrs Arbuthnot's garden.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Mrs Arbuthnot went into stage whisper "I thought you ought to know that next door are getting Ground Force in tomorrow."  
  
Sam froze. "Mr Gamgee, are you alright?"  
  
"Ground Force?"  
  
"Yes, you know, with Alan Titchmarsh."  
  
That hadn't been who Sam had been thinking about, but the whole concept of … her being next door. He let go of the ladder. Luckily, due to Sam's gardening expertise there was something soft and yielding for him to land in: the compost heap.  
  
The wheels of his mind were turning faster than a hamster wheel turned by a hamster on too many performance enhancing drugs.  
  
//weacheeorrrrghooeewrghehahahahahahahahahahahahweeeeeeorghurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrwrororghurrrrrrrrrrghurrrrrrrr…Charlie! No, wait, get a grip on yourself. You have to look smart. No, not too smart, or else she won't think you're a proper gardener. Lush and verdant, think lush and verdant. How on earth do you look lush and verdant? Damn, going to have to ask Pippin how to talk to women. Second thoughts, no, will ask Frodo, he's in the WI and hasn't been assaulted by anyone female. Except Rose of course…//  
  
"Mr Gamgee? Do you need me to call an ambulance? You're looking very poorly…"  
  
It was at this point that Sam realised that he was still lying on the compost heap and beginning to sink into it slowly.  
  
****** *****  
  
"Merry, don't you think it's time you came out of the central heating cupboard." Frodo was feeling a little uneasy about the role reversal issues involved in this; he wasn't used to seeing a crisis from this side of a door.  
  
"No! Pippin doesn't love me because he only likes girls." Merry could be heard sniffing and then bursting into tears again.  
  
"No, Pippin doesn't love you because he's deeply in love with himself and there isn't room for anyone else. Please come out of the cupboard."  
  
The door opened a bit and Merry stuck his head out at the same time as Legolas walked out of his bedroom.  
  
"Coming out of the closet again, Merry? I thought the whole incident with Lord Alfred Douglas made it abundantly clear which team you batted for."  
  
Merry withdrew back into the central heating cupboard. "Why did you have to bring that up? I thought we agreed never to mention it ever again?" He started sniffling again and Frodo, for lack of any better ideas tried to push another tissue under the door.  
  
"You can't stay in there all weekend, we've got plans remember? The whole weekend ahead of us…"  
  
"Plans?" Asked Legolas.  
  
"No plans, no plans whatsoever that you would be interested in. Sod off."  
  
But Legolas wasn't willing to let the matter drop yet, so Frodo decided to get into the cupboard with Merry as a means of escape. However, Merry took this entirely the wrong way.  
  
"Mmmph, not now, Merry, this is neither the time nor the place. Eeeouwh! I said no, look I've got a regulator gasket stuck in my back."  
  
"Ok, later then. You did get round to washing the costumes, didn't you?"  
  
****** ******  
  
Later that night, in a casualty department in Manchester:  
  
"Again? This is the third one this evening."  
  
"Third what?"  
  
"Really short drag queen in near-drowning incident."  
  
"Maybe there's some kind of theme night on in the village."  
  
"What? All acts under five feet tall?"  
  
"I don't know, why don't you ask them, the other two are probably in a better state to answer questions by now."  
  
"Whit d'ye mean 'the ither two'?" A very small, very cross, very wet, and because it was a canal he had fallen into, not terribly pleasant smelling Pussy Galore sat up and tried to be threatening at the doctor.  
  
"Ah, obviously not a theme night then. Could someone either restrain or sedate this one and I'll go talk to the others."  
  
"Oh, I like that, 'someone restrain or sedate him'. I wonder who that someone is going to be?"  
  
******* ******  
  
"Go on, enlighten me. Is it National Drown a Short Arse Drag Queen Day and no one's told me?"  
  
Merry and Frodo looked hurt. "Look, we told you, we fell in."  
  
"Bloody stupid place to put a canal," said Merry, with feeling.  
  
Both of them neglected to mention that the reason they fell in was because they had stepped out for a breath of fresh air, started kissing and lost track of where the canal was.  
  
Up to that point their evening had been going well. Estella and Lobelia ("the North's biggest, smallest drag act!"), had given a highly successful first performance of their new Abba act; even though Abba was done to death, Estella and Lobelia liked to think they did it particularly well.  
  
The doctor looked at the two very small drag queens, still wearing their sequined dresses (no one had been able to persuade either of them to take them off). They didn't seem to be that drunk, but perhaps their little swim had sobered them up. It wasn't like this was an unusual sight on a Friday evening. The doctor thought about this again, no, people falling in the canal was normal and one wet and confused drag queen provided the occasional bit of entertainment for the department, but three in one night was definitely not normal by anyone's definition. If it was, then it wasn't anyone he ever had, or ever wanted to meet.  
  
***** *****  
  
"Do you think we should have intervened?" asked Aragorn.  
  
"No, it was Pippin, he was fighting. He can look after himself and some of those women were pretty big, did you really want to get pulled into that?"  
  
"Well…no. But what if they managed to kill him, or do him some serious damage?"  
  
"He's immortal, all it'll do is really annoy him."  
  
Aragorn and Legolas were sitting on bar stools in a pub as far away as possible from where they had seen Pippin getting into the fight. There was a small collection of glasses in front of them, split evenly between pint glasses and those containing paper umbrellas and some suspicious lumps which were possibly some kind of cherry. Legolas was starting to lean towards Aragorn a bit, but not enough to cause too much comment even in a pub that didn't have a name like the Blue Parrot.  
  
"But immortal Elves can get killed, so what if immortal Hobbits can too?"  
  
"He's been around Gandalf far too long, he's learned things."  
  
"Yeah…remember when they beheaded him?"  
  
The barman looked up from polishing a glass, memorised the two men having the strange conversation in case their faces ever turned up on 'Crimewatch' and went back to very diligently pretending to not pay any attention whatsoever.  
  
"Well, if you remember right, it wasn't a proper beheading. I've never seen such an incompetent executioner."  
  
"Imagine beheading the priest who's there to give the last rites…"  
  
The barman decided it was really time for his break.  
  
"But it would have been interesting to watch, I mean his brain has so little to with his body that he probably would have run round and round like a chicken until the blood supply ran out."  
  
The barman decided he'd never really been cut out for pulling pints. Maybe he should apply for something a little safer, on an oil rig or in a bomb disposal squad, for example.  
  
***** *****  
  
Pippin sat back and fondled one of his false breasts absentmindedly. He had no idea how he'd actually acquired them, or any other part of the Pussy Galore costume for that matter, but he felt that this was something he could get used to. The Pussy Galore costume that is, not being in casualty, although given his past record of what happened to him on a Friday night, maybe get used to casualty departments was a good idea too.  
  
However, there was the question of the other two short drag queens. His curiosity, and other things, were awakened by this concept. It could be an interesting way to round off the evening…  
  
Pippin got up and started squelching round the casualty department in search of the other two diminutive drag queens. He wasn't sure where to begin looking, but decided that logically they should be behind one of the many curtains, it was just a matter of finding out which one.  
  
He pulled back one of the curtains at random. "Hey! How'd ye get that stuck in there pal?"  
  
It was only Pippin's quick reflexes that saved him from the hurled abuse and bedpans. He decided to try a more subtle approach, next time he would look under the curtains instead of pulling them back. You never knew when you might get the chance to look up someone's skirt at the same time.  
  
Three curtains along, Pippin was met with what he was sure was the skirt he was looking for. It was purple and sequined and he shuffled some more of himself under the curtain to get a better look at the face attached to the skirt. This, however, was not what Pippin had been looking for.  
  
"Merry! Frodo! Whit the hell are youse doin' here?"  
  
"What the sod's tha doin ere…Pushy?" This last comment was added in a very bad Sean Connery accent, in fact, even worse than Sean Connery's actual accent (only a Scotsman could get away with a Scottish accent that unconvincing).  
  
"And what're you doing here wi' him?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'with him', it was you that started the argument."  
  
"It was you that… brought him into it and started ignoring me, and it was you in the dog collar and leash!"  
  
"I thought you liked the dog collar and leash, they were your idea." At this point Merry burst into tears again, although thankfully all of his mascara had washed off in the canal and so it couldn't make tracks down his face."  
  
Frodo jumped into the argument to defend Merry. "This is all your fault, Peregrin! If you'd treated him like he deserved to be treated instead of going off with all those other men, women…things, none of this would have happened!"  
  
"Whit d'ye mean, 'my fault' ye little house breakin' hoor! Ye'll sleep wi' anythin' than comes through the door."  
  
"What about you? There are hard working prostitutes who get through less men a night than you!"  
  
Merry held his hands up in an attempt to get the others to stop, the well known gesture that precedes all drunken fights. Pippin tried to push him out of the way so he could get a better shot at punching Frodo for that last comment, but that was what finally pushed Merry's tolerance of Pippin's behaviour too far and he lunged at him.  
  
"Just leave it, he's not worth it!" cried Frodo, grabbing hold of Merry's arm as he brought it round to punch Pippin.  
  
By now the entire casualty department, doctors, nurses, receptionists, cleaners, patients and relatives had gathered round to watch the fight. It wasn't every day you saw three short men in drag fighting and they'd even given up trying to be subtle, it wasn't as if they would have noticed anyone else at this point anyway.  
  
Someone briefly considered called security, but abandoned the thought as they wanted to know what happened, and even if they had it wouldn't have done any good because the security guards were already there watching the fight with everyone else. The medical staff had decided that however long it would take them to patch up the three drag queens at the end of the fight would definitely be worth the entertainment gained from watching it.  
  
***** *****  
  
"So, who was that you brought home last night?" Gimli asked Sam over breakfast the next morning.  
  
"No one." Sam tried to hide behind the cornflake packet. "More tea?"  
  
"It looked like a woman to me."  
  
Sam, knowing exactly what Frodo was doing that weekend, could think of several answers, but decided to keep things simple for Gimli's sake. "It wasn't. There wasn't anyone in the house last night except you, me and Gandalf."  
  
"Och and the fact that you nailed Gandalf's chair to the floor, nailed the sitting room door shut and pushed the welsh dresser in front of it to make it look like we haven't got a sitting room, does that have anything to do with the girl you brought home last night?"  
  
Sam blushed and tried to will the floor to swallow him. "It was just a friend from work who came round to look at a few of my antique gardening books."  
  
"A friend with unrestrained bosoms?"  
  
Sam had got up from the breakfast table and was busying himself around the kitchen filling a tray. "I can be friends with who I want to be friends with."  
  
"Och I'm sure ye can."  
  
"Anyway, I'm going. I'm having second breakfast in my room. Alone."  
  
"Alright, I believe you, just don't spill any of that honey and yoghurt on your 'antique gardening books'." Only those who have heard a dwarf attempting to put on a suggestive voice will know exactly how far one sentence can make a person's skin crawl, so our readers should for once be glad that we have never tried to actually get this shown on tv.  
  
Sam went for the sensible option and ignored this comment and went upstairs with his 'second breakfast', which also inexplicably contained a single red rose in a vase.  
  
**** ****  
  
Aragorn and Legolas sat cross-legged on the double bed in their hotel room, a tray of breakfast marking the boundaries between each other's territory.  
  
"Do you want…sugar, in your coffee?"  
  
"Aragorn, how long have we been living together? You know I don't take sugar in my coffee, I don't even drink coffee, it's tea with lemon."  
  
Aragorn looked like he was going to start crying like a girl and Legolas really couldn't deal with that now. He tried to make vaguely soothing noises, if only to stop Aragorn from making the high pitched wailing noises again because they went right through his head and made his hangover so much worse.  
  
"But you know I love you and I don't love Arwen any more and you're really really nice and I'm not really over her and I'm so so sorry and I really like you and I should be over her because you're so much nicer and much better in bed. And, and, on you pointy ears look cute, but on her they're just stupid."  
  
Legolas paused. This was probably about as close as Aragorn was ever going to get to 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day'. Legolas realised that he probably should be grateful and that asking for anything more coherent than this would be a bad idea.  
  
"Aragorn. I like you. A lot. You're the only person who I've ever liked enough to bother having the…messy…parts of a relationship with. But, I get the feeling that I'm a replacement."  
  
"You're not a replacement for Arwen! If I was trying to replace her I'd ask you shout and swear at me and hit me over the head with heavy cast iron frying pans. And you definitely never ignored me when I was trying to have sex with you."  
  
Legolas paused again. He couldn't quite figure out how anyone could ignore Aragorn when he was trying to shag them. There was the beard for one thing. And the heavy breathing could really put you off even the most interesting magazine article.  
  
"Aragorn…why did you ever start going out with Arwen in the first place."  
  
"Well, you know how it is, I was young and naïve and she made me sign this legally binding contract which said she could eat my liver and both my kidneys if we didn't get married before I was 100. And every time I saw Eowyn I kept getting this weird mental image of Arwen coming towards me with a great big knife and fork and it was so off-putting."  
  
Legolas took back all his earlier wishes to spend the rest of his life with elves. No matter how strange the rest of the Fellowship were, none of them had ever tried to eat his internal organs.  
  
"Ok, Aragorn, I think we can make this work."  
  
Aragorn looked so happy that any policeman meeting him in the street would have dragged him down the station for random drug testing.  
  
"You really mean it?"  
  
"I only lie to Gandalf, and occasionally Pippin."  
  
***** *****  
  
Frodo and Merry sat leaning against each other on a bench at the station waiting for their train home when they heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Thanks fir givin' me a lift tae the station, and fir last night."  
  
Simultaneously they opened their eyes and were treated to the sight of Pippin in a summer shirt and shorts made for someone about a foot and a half taller than him, and because there was no way that a man's shoes would fit him, the 60s high-heeled boots that came with the Pussy Galore outfit. However, their attention was taken up more by the person Pippin was with. This man made nonsense of all the clichés as he was indeed camper than Butlins, bent as a nine bob note, gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide and queerer than a threpney bit. Except that he was so much camper, so much more bent, gayer and queerer as to render the similes meaningless.  
  
"Wow! He's actually camper than Celeborn," said Frodo metaphorically picking his lower jaw up off the floor.  
  
"Did you see that? How do his wrists manage to stay on?"  
  
"I honestly do not think I have ever met anyone that camp."  
  
"Really? But you've known every influential writer since the novel was invented and were hanging round gay bar when they were still called molly houses."  
  
"Hey, I've been doing it much longer than that."  
  
"Oh, yeah, the symposia. But you don't really notice it when everyone else is at it. If it wasn't for you an Plato falling out you'd be mentioned in every major philosophical textbook standing a corner saying everyone's your best mate and trying to pull."  
  
"Look, me and Plato had issues."  
  
"It's your own fault for trying it on with Aristophanes, everyone knew he was only into women."  
  
"He wrote plays, he was around men in drag every day, what was I supposed to think?"  
  
Pippin came and sat on the other end of the bench. Merry and Frodo looked over at him and narrowed their eyes.  
  
"Nice evening?"  
  
Pippin grinned, or more accurately, leered. "Great. How was yours?"  
  
"Before or after we fell in the canal?"  
  
"Oh. Somebody didn't get laid last night." Pippin whistled innocently.  
  
Merry decided to improvise. "Well, actually it got better after we fell in the canal. I got to punch you, the two doctors who betted on me winning the fight split their winnings with me and we met these very nice male nurses who offered to take us out for a drink when their shift finished and it didn't exactly go downhill from there. How did you spend the rest of your evening?"  
  
"Well, Ah don't remember exactly, but what ah do remember was pretty nice. An' then this mornin' Ah woke up in this huge flat, Ah mean really huge, an' it was oan the 6th floor, except Ah didnae notice until Ah wis sick over the balcony. An' then, whitisface, Ah think Ah've goat his name written doon oan a piece a paper from when he gave me his phone number, he gave me some a his clothes an' a lift to the station and was very nice aboot the whole balcony thing. Well, Ah'm noat sure if he wis bein' nice or if he hadnae actually noticed…"  
  
***** *****  
  
Vladivostok Airport, 2 ½ months later:  
  
"Are you sure this is right?"  
  
"The report said that someone fitting the description of a mentally unstable man from England was living in left luggage locker 47, so we'd better at least have a look."  
  
"How big is this guy if he's living in a left luggage locker?"  
  
"About 3 foot 10."  
  
"Oh, right."  
  
Merry and Pippin had productively used the time of the train journey home to settle their differences, and, after Frodo fell asleep, to, shall we say, start shagging in the toilets.  
  
Frodo had not been terribly amused by this prospect as when he woke up he had missed his stop and he could still hear Merry and Pippin in the toilets. In fact, he had been rather upset. So upset that he decided not to go home. It was Sam who had alerted the local police and the local police, who on the advice of every psychiatrist in a 20 mile radius, had passed the description on to Interpol. While Frodo wasn't maliciously violent he could cause a bit of damage when people upset him as much as Merry and Pippin had.  
  
The policemen knocked on the door of the left luggage locker.  
  
"Hello, anybody home?"  
  
The door opened and Frodo greeted the policemen in flawless, yet more than a little dated Russian.  
  
"Good day to you, sirs, and a fine one it is at that."  
  
The policemen exchanged looks. This was probably the one they had come for.  
  
"And what's your name?"  
  
"Ivan Ivanovich."  
  
"Yes, and my name is Catherine the Great and this is Ivan the Terrible."  
  
"You jest sirs, but I am in good sport today."  
  
"Ah, I see we have a little Pushkin on our hands."  
  
"Pushkin? But he does not live to the east, in fact, he does not live at all for I saw him die. I did warn him not to sport with the wife of his superior, but he would not listen."  
  
"He thinks he knew Pushkin?" whispered one policeman to the other. "This is definitely the one we came for."  
  
"It could be worse, he could think he knew Ivan the Terrible…"  
  
"Don't give him ideas." 


	18. The Fellowship Goes West

Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Dent.  
  
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the Fellowship. Debt to 'Father Ted' in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the 'Young Ones'. We don't own Peak Practice, Jamie Bamber, Delia Smith, Ikea, Global Video (thankfully), complicated cheese, Ingmar Bergman, Boris Yeltsin, The Erotic Witch Project, Pong, the 18th century British navy or knockout whist.  
  
Rating: R (comedic violence; flatmate strife; Language; mental breakdown; gratuitous cheese; winds light to variable.)  
  
Reviews: yes please, please or else it means we have to work.  
  
Story notes: 'Sectioned' refers to being detained under the Mental Health Act, i.e. Being put into a mental hospital for your and other people's safety. Delia referred to in the story is Delia Smith, a British cookery person who's on telly a lot. Scary woman. Oh, yes, and Jamie Bamber is Dr. Matt in Peak Practice (unintentionally hilarious medical drama). And we speak no Italian so feel free to correct us.  
  
Episode 15: The Fellowship Goes West.  
  
"Stop stalking Jamie Bamber! Leave him alone, Nell!"  
  
Merry was obviously having the 'General Practice Courtesan Dream', where the mistresses of dead kings rose from the grave to molest the cast of 'Peak Practice'. It was one of his more frequent disturbing dreams, one of the others involving Boris Yeltsin, a laundrette and Saruman, but this one was keeping Pippin awake.  
  
"Stoppit! Run, Jamie, run!" In what could only have been an attempt to rugby tackle the imaginary stalker, Merry threw himself across the bed, much to Pippin's distress.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggguuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnn!"  
  
This noise requires some explanation. Actually, quite a bit of explanation and we aren't going to promise that it all will make sense, because, lets face it, this is an explanation involving Pippin. Pippin's porn collection had been growing exponentially ever since he had found an abandoned matriculation card (the fact that he had been hanging round student pubs for almost 2 months in an attempt to achieve this was not the point) and was busy getting student discounts on every porn title he could find until someone notices that he wasn't actually called Sarah Jones and he didn't have long blonde hair. As a result, Pippin now had to perch on top of a small mountain of pornographic publications every night when he went to bed. It was extremely uncomfortable and the rest of the Hobbits had nicknamed him 'The Porn Dragon' and claimed that he would be able to tell just by sitting on it if they threw any of it out. What had happened to cause the noise was that Merry had turned over violently causing the underside of his bunk to bulge down into the small space Pippin slept in, landing right on his nose and breaking it. To make matters worse, Merry had now gone from light dream sleep into deep comatose sleep and wasn't going to move.  
  
"Nnnnnnnnnnnngggggggnnnnnnnngetoffmeee."  
  
It took about 5 minutes of screaming to wake Frodo and Sam, who had subconsciously heard the noise of Pippin in pain and had decided not to wake up.  
  
"Pippin? What are you making all that noise for?"  
  
"Mn' snuck, tuh bunk by berry"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think he's stuck."  
  
The amount of noise Frodo and Sam had to make to wake Merry up was sufficient to wake up Aragorn and Legolas in the next room. After banging on the wall for several minutes to shut the Hobbits up they decided to see if Fate had smiled on them and someone had tried to kill Pippin.  
  
Aragorn shuffled into the Hobbits' bedroom, resplendent in brown paisley pattern pyjamas and carpet slippers, followed by Legolas in an 18th century nightshirt, which is to all intents and purposes a nightie and to the disgust of the Hobbits, still managing to look attractive, even with the hairnet.  
  
"Aragorn, you've got to drive Pippin to the hospital, he's broken his nose."  
  
"Do, Berry's broken by dose, bastard."  
  
Aragorn looked at Pippin. "He doesn't need to go to the hospital, I can fix that, I've set hundreds of bones."  
  
"Dododododododododo. Ugger off."  
  
The Hobbits knew Pippin's psychology.  
  
"Wuss."  
  
"Cissy."  
  
"Pansy."  
  
"Girly girly knicker wearer."  
  
Pippin launched himself at Merry in retaliation for this last comment. Legolas grabbed him mid-flight and pinned his arms behind his back for just long enough for Aragorn to put his nose back into place.  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRARARARARNNNOOOOOO. OO BASTARD! I'g onna get oo for dat."  
  
"Forgive me if I am not afraid of a mini Hugh Hefner. Do you have any very small bunny girls hanging round the place?"  
  
"Ut up"  
  
"Umm. Aragorn. I think in future we could take him to hospital. For pain relief?"  
  
"Give me five minutes to get the feverfew infusing…"  
  
"Or, or, you could just possibly give him an aspirin."  
  
"I don't hold with any of that chemical rubbish."  
  
Legolas sighed. Reasoning with Aragorn was one of life's more pointless exercises. He had now gone into a long rant about how anaesthetics had weakened the moral fibre of humanity, aided by the introduction of soft toilet paper and sliced bread.  
  
Legolas was getting bored. "Aragorn. Shut up. Pippin – tomorrow we sort out the porn collection. And get rid of most of it."  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
  
********** *********  
  
The next morning an enormous heap of porn had appeared in the sitting room. Legolas, being the organised elf that he was, had gone out early to Ikea and had returned with many interesting Swedish storage ideas that Aragorn was out in the garden swearing at. Aragorn could understand a little Swedish, but not an Ikea flatpack. He was having problems assembling his Knep, the Håbol was fighting back and he'd just tripped over his Slugis.  
  
Pippin was sat in the middle of the pile debating what he was going to throw out and what he was going to donate to Oxfam. Legolas had not been informed of this plan, and had therefore been unable to veto it. Gandalf, Frodo and Merry were sat by a slightly smaller pile, having first refusal on Pippin's second hand porn. The rest of the fellowship had too much dignity, common sense, hygiene and knowledge of Pippin's… personality to want to even be in the same room as the porn collection.  
  
Legolas stuck his head round the door and threw an assembled box in the direction of Pippin.  
  
"I want over three quarters of this thrown out. And I'm going back to buy you a mattress."  
  
Pippin looked worried. "Those nasty things wi'springs? They look really uncomfortable."  
  
"You are sleeping on a mattress." Something caught Legolas' eye. "Just how old is some of this stuff anyway? Why hasn't it disintegrated?"  
  
"He's a tepid person." Supplied Frodo.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Umm, perhaps that his kind of, ummm exuded body heat and humidity is just right for the preservation of paper? Perhaps we should sell him to the British Library."  
  
"Not after where he's been."  
  
Legolas looked at the picture, then went into the kitchen. He returned a few seconds later with the salad tongs and picked the picture up. He looked at it carefully, using his elven eyesight to its fullest extent, and then tried to talk casually to Pippin.  
  
"Where did you get this?"  
  
"Weird beardy bloke drew it."  
  
"Weird beardy… Italian bloke?"  
  
"Yep. Dead good wi'all the, y'know… bits."  
  
"Yes, yes, anatomical accuracy, I can see that. Um, would this have been a left handed, bearded Italian around the time of the Renaissance?"  
  
"Yep. Name was Davey I think."  
  
"Davey?"  
  
"Yep. Leonardo Davey."  
  
"Do you think that it could have been more likely to have been 'da Vinci' as opposed to Davey?"  
  
"Probably. Mah Italian's not up to much. Hey, do you know why he wrote all that Russian down the side of the picture?"  
  
Legolas was shaking quite a lot now. He squeaked "that writing that looks suspiciously like Italian written backwards you mean?"  
  
"Yeah, what's it say?"  
  
"To the very funny acrobatic dwarf, because I haven't laughed this much since I was 12 and aunt Lucretia fell into the dung heap."  
  
"Thought he was going tae wet himself he wiz laughin so much."  
  
"Do you have any idea how much this is worth?"  
  
"Nope. Not really my style."  
  
"Yeah, the woman doesn't look like she's going to have back problems when she's older."  
  
Legolas carefully dropped the picture onto the coffee table and started to giggle manically.  
  
"Of course we can't sell it through Southeby's. Who'd believe that an original da Vinci's been in my housemate's mattress for over 400 years? Provenance? Provenance? Hobbit mattress porn, provenance? Heeeeeheheeeheeeeehheeehheeee!"  
  
The rest of the room had stopped to look at Legolas.  
  
"Legolas? Is everything alright?"  
  
"I have to make some phone calls. If any of you so much as touch that picture on the coffee table I will break your arms and make you eat your own livers, understand?"  
  
Everyone else nodded ferociously.  
  
********* ********  
  
The next week and a half were somewhat eventful. Legolas managed to sell the picture on the black market for a sum he wouldn't name, but his first suggestion was that they moved somewhere 'bigger. A lot bigger. Where I can have my own room with at least 6 inches of soundproofing between me and the Hobbits." Frodo demanded a larger kitchen with a central work area and Aga and Sam wanted a big garden. Merry and Pippin had asked for a cellar, but Legolas had decided not to ask why and made a mental note to exclude all houses with cellars from his list of possibilities.  
  
However, the stress of househunting had taken its toll on Frodo. He had been Sectioned. Again. Although to be fair, it hadn't really been his fault as no one had bothered to warn him that the potential buyers looking round the house were mystic new-age types and that one of them was wearing a necklace with a huge eye on it and because she wasn't exactly tall and it was on a long chain, Frodo had had an unpleasant encounter with it at eye level. The hoop earrings and rings hadn't helped the situation either. This meant that the rest of the fellowship were having to cook and clean on their own. Not exactly the best circumstances to be showing people round a house in, as thick black smoke obscuring the view of the kitchen can be rather off-putting.  
  
Even Gandalf had done his bit for the house effort. He spent several days watching programmes on how to sell your house and decided that de- cluttering the house was the best course of action to take and put all the unnecessary items he could find in the shed and taped the door shut. Unfortunately his good work was undone over the next few days when the rest of the household were forced to retrieve the microwave, kettle, bath towels and soap. Gandalf had never used any of these things, so, as far as he was concerned, they were clutter. He had also tried to bully Merry and Pippin into painting all the walls magnolia and as a result every vertical surface was painted up to the height of about 5 and a half feet, at which point they had stopped because they couldn't find the stepladder (trapped in the shed behind the barbeque). Legolas and Aragorn had not been impressed at coming home from a hard day's work to find they had to finish off someone else's DIY.  
  
Then the toilet sprang a leak. In normal circumstances the situation would have been resolved speedily, with Frodo calling the local plumber, the nice efficient bloke from four streets away. However, with no Frodo around, and no one being able to remember the phone number Aragorn decided to try to fix it himself. With polyfilla. And duct tape. Merry and Pippin had retreated to the work surface in the kitchen, wailing that they were going to drown. Water was pouring down the stairs in a biblical fashion when Legolas arrived home from the Arthouse cinema's Ingmar Bergman season. He found the Yellow pages, turned off the water at the mains, rang a plumber, then in response to Aragorn's cries for help rang the fire brigade. Their attempts to free him were hampered his comedic predicament, being wedged into, stuck down and duct taped on to the toilet.  
  
So, the house was redecorated again. Several sets of people had looked round the house. Therefore Legolas decided that it was time they seriously started looking for a new house. Reluctantly he had to concede that this would involve taking the hobbits along with Aragorn and Gimli. Legolas was glad elves never suffered form high blood pressure.  
  
************ ***********  
  
"Billiard room! Billiard room! This one's got a billiard room. Can we have a look?"  
  
"It only says it has a billiard room because they have a billiard table. We don't. OK?"  
  
"Do we really need the sixth bedroom? This one has six bedrooms and a study."  
  
"A spare room's always a good idea."  
  
"Celeborn?"  
  
"Ah, no sorry, only five bedrooms. Definitely."  
  
"This one's got a conservatory. It'd be good for my plants."  
  
"We can build you a conservatory."  
  
"I want a greenhouse as well."  
  
"I want doesn't get."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"Alright, alright. But we need to go and look round some of these houses. Soon. Very soon." Legolas had the idea of his own room lodged in his head and was savouring the possibilities. Space for the Warhammer and the Hammond Organ.  
  
************ **********  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr, er…"  
  
"Mr. Green. And these are my… housemates."  
  
The woman looked at the rest of the Fellowship, and was glad that she wasn't alone in the house. She started her spiel. "Well as you can see this is the hallway, and through here is the reception room…"  
  
The tour continued. Legolas managed to dissuade Pippin from pocketing anything. Sam had a detailed list of questions sent by Frodo about the kitchen, of which the woman could answer none – the nearest she ever got to cooking were Marks and Spencer ready meals.  
  
"Och, Is this a load bearing wall?"  
  
"Um…I don't know, you could get a surveyor's report."  
  
"Does that lintel look like it's buckling to anyone else?"  
  
"No, Gimli, it doesn't. And neither did any of the other lintels you asked about. Not even the one in the summer house. But could I take this opportunity to ask you about the soundproofing?"  
  
"Well, we've never had any problems with it."  
  
"Yes, but have you ever had four people in the next room trying to learn to clog dance to 'Mambo Number 5'?" Legolas started staring straight ahead and his eyes took on a strange glazed look.  
  
"I can't say I ever have."  
  
"Yes, but in a hypothetical situation would you say that if someone was clog dancing in the next room do you think you would be able to hear it?"  
  
"Well, in a hypothetical situation I hypothetically don't know. Just like I don't hypothetically know if the summer house is going to collapse or the cooker is capable of nuclear fusion. If you don't want to be able to hear people clog dancing next door I suggest you move into a converted castle with walls four feet thick!" The woman started wondering if maybe she should just stay in this house if selling it meant having to deal with people this weird.  
  
"But we only did that once, and we threw the clogs away afterwards and everything."  
  
"What do you mean? We've never lived in a converted castle and even if we did, why would we need clogs?"  
  
"Oh keep up with the conversation."  
  
"Are those trees yours?"  
  
"What? Pardon? Are those trees ours? They're in our garden. I've decided I don't want to sell the house any more. Perhaps it would be best if you just left. Now."  
  
******* ******  
  
"Well, that went about as well as could be expected."  
  
"What do you mean? That's the third person who's taken their house of the market when we were in it this week."  
  
"Um, perhaps… I don't want to be offensive or anything, but begging your pardon, it might actually work a bit better if only me and Legolas looked round the houses." The rest of the Fellowship turned to look at Sam.  
  
"What's wrong with the rest of us?"  
  
Sam cowered a bit and took on the expression worn by most men when confronted by their wives the morning after the night before when they've come in drunk, deposited an empty curry container on the new living room carpet, knocked over four items of great sentimental value, been sick in and around the toilet and fallen asleep in the airing cupboard, so Legolas took the opportunity to answer the question himself.  
  
"Well, where shall I begin? Pippin, has it occurred to you that some people find petty theft somewhat anti-social? Merry, laughing at family pictures and telling them that their much loved great aunt has a face like a, what was it, 'bulldog that's swallowed a wasp'? That's also something they don't teach you in finishing school. Gimli, questioning the structural integrity of everything from the roof space to their child's toast rack that they made at school is a bad plan. And Aragorn, would you please stop diagnosing their trees with all sorts of diseases that are going to make them collapse on the house within a few weeks."  
  
"But they did have-"  
  
"Shut up. Shut up all of you. From now on Sam and I are the house buying committee. Aragorn and Gimli are the packing up the old house committee and Merry and Pippin are the Gandalf Riot Control committee."  
  
"What's the Gandalf Riot Control committee?"  
  
"It's your job to stop Gandalf from finding out we're actually moving until the point when the packing committee put the tea chest over his head and shove him in the back of the removal lorry."  
  
"How are we supposed to do that?"  
  
Legolas held out a small rectangular piece of card. "This is a membership card for the Global Video shop down the road. They have the largest porn collection outside of the Amsterdam red light district."  
  
Merry and Pippin gibbered appreciatively.  
  
******* ******  
  
While Merry, Pippin and Gandalf sat watching 'The Erotic Witch Project' in the living room, Gimli and Aragorn made a start on clearing out the loft.  
  
"Who on earth does this ukulele belong to?"  
  
"None of us have ever tried to play the ukulele. Sitar, clarsach, balalaika, triangle and wood blocks, yes. Ukulele, no."  
  
"Alright then, that can go into the rubbish pile." Aragorn threw the offending instrument through the hatch where it landed with a slight splintering thud on the landing.  
  
"What about this?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's a game of 'Pong'."  
  
"I think we throw that out too. What about these boots?"  
  
"Get rid of them! Or sell them to a museum that has really thick glass cases, they smell terrible." There was a pause. "Those aren't the boots Pippin found on the Somme, are they?"  
  
"What, the ones with bits of feet still in them?"  
  
"No, Pippin only steals things that he can use or sell and you can't either use or sell something that still has the previous owner…resident."  
  
"We'd better get rid of them just to be on the safe side anyway."  
  
Gimli nodded in agreement.  
  
"Hmmm, books, books and…more books. We should probably keep these."  
  
"Including the pop-up Karma Sutra."  
  
"Definitely including the pop-up Karma Sutra."  
  
"What about these mouldy looking ones that look like someone's spilt their dinner on them?"  
  
"Keep those too. One of them's Frodo's autographed copy of 'Mrs Beaton' and he's rather attached except he won't let them near the kitchen because he thinks they might be unhygienic."  
  
Aragorn opened a trunk and his eyes lit up. "Ah ha, weaponry! We're hanging on to this, although maybe we should keep it in better order, some of it's disintegrating."  
  
Legolas stuck his head through the hatch. "None of my weaponry's disintegrating. If you want a bow to work you have to keep it oiled and maintained and I do, so all of my weaponry's fully functional."  
  
Aragorn and Gimli sniggered. "I bet all your weaponry's fully functional."  
  
"Oh grow up." Legolas retreated from the loft, stopping only to pick up and tune the discarded ukulele and sit on the loft ladder and play 'When I'm Cleaning Windows'.  
  
****** *****  
  
"I think we've reached a crisis point. We've been living on take away food for the past 5 days and if we don't go to the supermarket soon so we can cook something fresh we're all going to get scurvy. And I know all about scurvy, I've been in the navy."  
  
Gandalf, Merry and Pippin took this opportunity to start singing 'In the Navy'.  
  
"I don't know why you're singing that, you were in the navy too. The only difference was that I was an officer and you were press ganged."  
  
"We know what all the officers were getting up to back then you know."  
  
"Yes, but at least I didn't have to spend long periods of time standing in one place so that Nelson could balance the end of his telescope on the top of my head."  
  
The innuendo in this knocked Merry and Pippin for six. They were so many possibilities for smutty comebacks that their brains actually fused and they were left muttering incoherently about 'rum, sodomy and the lash'.  
  
"Legolas," began Aragorn, "You didn't really…get up to what the officers got up to, did you?"  
  
"Well of course I did. Being an officer in the 18th century navy was a stressful job; the death rates were horrendous and you need to put in a lot of hours to run such a complexly rigged ship. You need something to take your mind off it at the end of the watch."  
  
"Yes, but, you didn't have to do…that."  
  
"What's wrong with knockout whist?"  
  
There was silence round the table. "That's what the officers were getting up to?"  
  
"What did you think we were getting up to?"  
  
"Um…um, but… you know what they say about sailors."  
  
"A woman in every port? I can assure you I was not like that. I was an officer and a gentleman, sir."  
  
"That wasn't quite what we meant."  
  
"Well, of course we weren't exactly known for our sinful ways aboard my ship. There were others who got up to worse."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Oh yes, on the 'Revenge' they used to play poker. Sometimes for money. But back to the matter in hand. Gentlemen, we are going to have to cook."  
  
"Wait, wait, what about when we were in the navy? We just used to eat some lemons. Why don't we just go to the supermarket for a big bag of lemons and stop to get pizza on the way back."  
  
"No, we just need fruit. Let's forget about the supermarket altogether and get ham and pineapple pizza."  
  
"No, we have to prove that we can survive on our own. What's really easy to cook?"  
  
"Macaroni cheese. But not the stuff out of a packet."  
  
No, I've got a better idea. Macaroni cheese with bacon bits in it."  
  
"To the landrover!"  
  
****** *****  
  
"So much cheese…"  
  
The entire Fellowship minus Frodo, but including Gandalf who had decided that he was overdue his monthly exercise and that this might just be interesting. However the exercise had fallen by the wayside somewhat when he found out that the supermarket provided wheelchairs and he immediately developed mobility problems.  
  
"Legolas, Elves are good at cooking, aren't they? Why don't you choose?"  
  
"Yes, but cheese isn't exactly elvish. It's all matured and fermented. Not natural at all and definitely not elvish."  
  
"Alright then. Everyone choose one and we'll hope for the best."  
  
Sam and Gimli made sensible choices, Sam choosing extra matured cheddar and Gimli some Wensleydale. Aragorn went for his usual doubly-evil, matured since the French revolution blue stilton that was tethered in its own pen in a corner of the cheese counter. Legolas wanted some mozzarella since it was low fat and inoffensive, but in deference to his high-class elven sensibilities it was proper buffalo mozzarella. Then Gandalf, Merry and Pippin chose and things started getting silly as Pant ys Gawn, Bishop Kennedy and a strange speckled red concoction calling itself Mexicana with a warning about high chilli content on it were added to the trolley.  
  
"What else do we need?"  
  
"I have consulted Delia."  
  
"All hail Delia."  
  
"And we need butter, flour, milk, pasta and bacon bits."  
  
Butter, flour and milk were all easily obtained with only small disagreements over which type of butter (the cheapest) and flour (also the cheapest, after a dip between self-raising and plain). The milk argument was solved by Gandalf's protests that it was below the officially recognised Wizard's dignity level to drink anything skimmed.  
  
"So many types of bacon…"  
  
"We're not going through that again. Look, economy bacon bits, that'll do."  
  
"There's lots of pasta too…"  
  
"We're having macaroni cheese, so we're buying macaroni."  
  
"Can't we have linguini?"  
  
"You're only asking for that because you think it sounds rude. We're getting macaroni."  
  
"The expensive kind or the cheap kind?"  
  
"Well, Delia-"  
  
"All hail Delia."  
  
"Says that we should use one of the more expensive kinds, so that's what we'll get."  
  
The rest of the shopping trip was uneventful apart from when Gandalf wouldn't let Aragorn have his credit card and again when he wouldn't let the supermarket have their wheelchair back. The Fellowship loaded up the car with their cheese, pasta, bacon, butter, flour, milk and lemons and went home to face the daunting task of cooking.  
  
***** *****  
  
Because the kitchen had been designed for Hobbits, Aragorn and Legolas couldn't quite fit, so sat at the kitchen table reading aloud instructions from the Book of Delia to the Hobbits, who were trying to do the actual cooking. Merry and Pippin were attempting to eat lemons while cooking, which wasn't making it any easier.  
  
"Okay, so you've mixed the butter and flour, now, pour in the milk and stir it quickly so that it doesn't go all lumpy. She says it's ok if it curdles a bit – that's normal."  
  
"Mmmnnngggg." This, for the benefit of our reader, is noise made by a Hobbit sucking on a piece of lemon.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I think he said it's working."  
  
"So now have you made a nicely consistent white sauce?"  
  
Sam, by dint of hitting Merry and Pippin with a ladle until they retreated, had accomplished this task.  
  
"Now, add the cheese."  
  
Merry and Pippin had grated an immense quantity of cheese and they proceeded to throw all of it into the saucepan. The cheese began to melt, although the cheese to white sauce ratio made it resemble fondue more than the sauce normally used for macaroni.  
  
"Maybe we should add some more milk."  
  
"Does Delia-"  
  
"All hail Delia."  
  
"Say to add more milk?"  
  
"Um…hang on a minute I'll check. Yes, you can add more milk if it's too thick. Ooh, there's something else, she suggests adding a pinch of nutmeg."  
  
Pippin went to the spice rack and found the nutmeg. Frodo, being a proper cook, only ever bought whole nutmeg, which confused Pippin slightly. He tapped the nutmeg suspiciously.  
  
"It's all in big lumps, should I just put it in?"  
  
"Yeah, it'll melt…like soluble aspirin."  
  
"I don't want fizzy cheese sauce."  
  
"Well, not quite like soluble aspirin. Just bung it in."  
  
"I think you're supposed to grate it…?" Suggested Sam. But he was too late, Pippin had already thrown an entire nutmeg into the cheese sauce.  
  
"Nah, it's too small, we'll just wait til it melts."  
  
Twenty minutes later the nutmeg still hadn't melted.  
  
"Perhaps we should have grated it. Never mind, we'll make it like finding the sixpence in the Christmas pudding – whoever finds the nutmeg does the washing up. Someone heat the water for the pasta."  
  
***** *****  
  
"Urgh, I think I've got the nutmeg. No, wait, it's just another lump of overcooked bacon, it's chewy in the middle."  
  
The original possessor of the nutmeg had been Gandalf, who in tactical defence of his unbroken record of doing no work around the house whatsoever, had wrapped it in bacon and sneakily levitated it on to Sam's plate.  
  
"Mning? Hnyah." For the benefit of our reader this is the noise made by a Hobbit who has bitten into a whole nutmeg wrapped in overcooked bacon and is now attempting to unstick it from his jaws.  
  
To say that the Fellowship were enjoying their pasta al sei formaggio would be stretching the dictionary definition of 'enjoy' further than the elastic in Gandalf's underwear during The Accidental Bungee Jumping Incident. The overcooked bacon was at least adding texture to something which defied all natural laws because at this exact moment Frodo was also eating macaroni cheese with bacon bits in the psychiatric hospital and enjoying his considerably more. The highlight of Frodo's day when he was in hospital used to be when the really tall doctor who had to duck even to get through the unusually tall hospital doors came to do his ward rounds, but now he spent as much time as possible talking to the catering staff and trying to give them hints and tips.  
  
***** *****  
  
"I have some important news." Legolas was looking even more smug than usual, so much so that his smugness had radiated into Sam who had come in with him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I've found the right house for us, and to stop any of you disagreeing about this, we've put in an offer and it's been accepted, ok?"  
  
The rest of the Fellowship's jaws hit the ground.  
  
"You did this without saying anything?"  
  
"Of course we did. Who said that democracy works? It just takes longer. And I've sold this house too and we have to be out by next Friday, but since we can move into the new house on Wednesday, this isn't going to cause us any problems."  
  
"Should we tell Gandalf?"  
  
"No, remember what I said about he tea chest. Anyway, I was wondering if I could talk to you about this. What if we don't tell him and don't bother with the tea chest?"  
  
"But that would be cruel."  
  
"Yeah, think of the people who're moving into this house, they've got kids."  
  
"It would be like a replacement for corporal punishment. Good character building material."  
  
"What kind of character could you build out of Gandalf apart from serial killer? I mean, look at Frodo, he's known Gandalf all his life and look where it got him."  
  
"Alright, we'll take Gandalf. Just don't mention him to the removal companies when you phone up to get quotes, we'll have to carry the stuff ourselves if you do."  
  
"If we give him enough to drink that he passes out and tell the removal men that he's a Guy left over from bonfire night a few years ago that we got too attached to to burn we might just get away with it."  
  
"Do we have that much alcohol?"  
  
"Surgical alcohol should do the trick. Or failing that, meths…"  
  
***** *****  
  
"Bloody hell, something in here pongs."  
  
"What did they say this were again?"  
  
"Dunno, but I got the impression it were pretty important."  
  
"Really? That girly blonde one said it dint matter too much, and to leave it behind if we couldn't get it in t'van."  
  
"Should we just leave it? It's bloody heavy."  
  
"Yeah, but it's probably got something rotting in it. If we leave it here environmental health'll be down on us like a ton of bricks and I'm not taking this thing all the way to t'tip for them. We've gone above and beyond the call of duty today, especially when the short barmy one spent most of the morning hanging on to me leg."  
  
"Wonder what they've done?"  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"How many people round here move from three bedroom semis into big five bedroom houses like what they're going into? They've either done the lottery or done a bank."  
  
******** *********  
  
University term is coming to an end, and we're unsure about whether we'll be able to write anything over the holidays: if we can, we will, but don't hold your breath. Both the authors have Internet parental controls in the form of our mothers leaning over our shoulders and demanding to know what we're doing. We have some concepts for some mini-Bagenders episodes, so maybe… Adieu! 


End file.
